Unholy Purity
by Crimson Taklian
Summary: {Part I} A woman cloaked in shadow and foxfire sees all as the King of the Dragoons aides Lord Voldemort. The Queen of the Damned gives her gift to the Golden Trio of Hogwarts, in the form of canine fangs to raven wings to crimson eyes. The fun begins.
1. Shades of Yet to Come

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

_**Chapter One: Shades of Yet to Come**_

**_Twilight  
_****_Singer  
_****_Vanessa Carlton _**

_I was stained with a role _

_In a day not my own _

_And as you walked into my life _

_You showed what needed to be shown _

_And I always knew what was right _

_I just didn't know that I might _

_Peel away and choose to see from such a different sight _

_And I will never see the sky the same way _

_And I will learn to say goodbye to yesterday _

_And I will never cease to fly... if held down _

_And I will always reach too high _

_'Cause I've seen 'cause I've seen twilight _

_I never cared, never wanted, never sought to see what flaunted _

_So on purpose, so in my face _

_Couldn't see beyond my own place _

_And it was so easy to behold _

_What could hold but you taught me I could change _

_Whatever came within these shallow days _

_And I will never see the sky the same way _

_And I will learn to say goodbye to yesterday _

_And I will never cease to fly . . . if held down _

_And I will always reach too high _

_'Cause I've seen 'cause I've seen _

_And as the sun shines through and pushes away and pushes ahead _

_It fills the warmth of blue and leaves a chill instead _

_And I never knew that I could be so blind to all that is so real _

_And as illusioned eyes I see there is so much to be revealed _

_And I will never see the sky the same way _

_And I will learn to say goodbye to yesterday _

_And I will never cease to fly . . . if held down _

_And I will always reach too high 'cause I've seen 'cause I've seen twilight _

_I was stained with a role in a day not my own _

_And as you walked into my life you showed what needed to be shown _

_And I always knew what was right _

_I just didn't know that I might _

_Peel away and choose to see from such a different sight _

_And I will never see the sky the same way _

_And I will learn to say goodbye to yesterday _

_And I will never cease to fly . . . if held down _

_And I will always reach too high 'cause I've seen 'cause I've seen twilight_

**Dreamscape**

_Nothing lay ahead of him, like vast plains of grass. Except there was no grass and darkness had conquered everything his eyes could see. Thick strands of shadowy mist swirled through the air, the ground mirroring the inky indigo-onyx sky above, which was seemingly endless in its dept. There was only emptiness; an abyss lay in every direction, though north was where he went. Why, he did not know why. He was compelled to travel directly ahead of him, drawn by an unseen force, it seemed. His footsteps echoed loudly in the staggering nothingness, it appeared he was walking on a sort of glass ground, or was it the mist he walked upon? It felt as though if he made one wrong move he would plummet into darkness below._

_A voice broke the darkness, making him cry out in alarm, jumping backwards. It was a woman's voice, smooth and silky, hidden dangers deep within the strange and foreign dialect. Her tone was mysterious, almost . . . riddle-like, as were her words. _

'_Child of the Magi breed, what is it that dwells within your soul? What are your . . . desires?' _

_He did not know how to answer to such a question and as a result, remained quite. The shadowy mists around him began to swirl and condensed into a form in front of him, taking the shape of an ancient mirror, positioned on clawed feet, with a frame of deepest black, a strange metal with even stranger carvings into it. At the top of the mirror was a bird, the raven, with its wings spread wide. The female voice spoke again, echoing horribly into the blankness. _

'_Child, look into the mirror. Look, and see what I offer you.'_

_Nervously, he approched the mirror. For a moment, all he could see was his pale-faced reflection, staring blankly back at him, but the scene began to ripple, like when fingers were touched into a pool of water, finally changing into a world he would have given anything to be a part of._

_There he was, surrounded by smiling, happy faces of those he knew and loved. There was his family, all beaming happily upon him, dressed in the finest of clothing. He was . . . different, taller, and handsomer. His face had a cocky, brave smile on his face and the floor he stood upon was covered up to his ankles in golden coins that spread for miles and miles. The women in the vast crowd around him all cooed his name and swooned when his reflection smiled and waved at them. There was nothing to worry about, no death, and there were his friends, happily waving and shouting his name. They were happy._

'_I offer this to you, little boy, on the terms that you would be living in a world of illusion.'_

_He could not tear his gaze from the mirror and his heart sank when the utopian world in the mirror rippled back into his own meager reflection. 'Would you except my gift? Riches and pleasures beyond your wildest dreams? Only to live with the knowledge it is all illusions made real. Or do you stay in the bitter reality you dwell within currently?'_

_The mirror then showed him the world as he knew it. There was destruction, his family clad in the barest they could afford. Sadness clung to the air like flies flock to decay, there was no peace and there was fear present, paranoia supreme. There were his friends, pale faced and grim, looking horribly mature for their young ages, and there was a raging inferno that burned the very essence of life, destroying innocence and happiness. It was disgusting to watch and he felt pleasure when the mirror then turned back to his reflection._

'_Panic. Disorder. Destruction. This is the world as you know it, is it not child? The world of reality. I offer you a chance to escape this reality, for a falsehood of peace. Think wisely, child, for I leave the choice to you.' _

_The voice remained silent as he stood and pondered over the two images that had been shown in the mirror. It was a long time while he thought and his voice was firm when he answered. He knew he had made the right choice._

'_I chose reality.'_

_The voice was softer, almost confused, as though he now gave it the puzzle. 'Why do you refuse the illusions that bring happiness to all you care for? Why do you except death?'_

_His voice sounded brave, though it was the opposite of how he truly felt. He would have given anything for the dream world to be true, but it could never have been. He remembered his friends and he felt braver. 'I-I'd be living a lie. I'd never accept myself. No one wants to be a coward.'_

_He could almost see the voice's owner smile and it spoke again, still as mysterious as it had been before. 'You chose truth over lies, even when the lies bring you happiness. You are indeed wise beyond your years.' The shimmering surface of the mirror hardened into stone, as black as the metal frame that held the glass in place, a silver knob curling from the shadows at the side. 'Step beyond the door, child, and I shall reward thee for thy's wisdom.'_

_He walked, his heart bright, his proud smile evident and he grabbed the silver handle. The door opened without a sound, as light as a feather, despite its heavy material. Beyond the door was a room made entirely out of black marble. The walls, the ceiling, the Corinthian columns supporting the ceiling, all were made from the same dark material. Upon the highly polished stone floor was a massive pentacle, delicately and elaborately carved from a strange, silvery paint. There were eight points to the large star inside a circle of arcane ruins, inside each of a points was a symbol for eight of the nine planets, in the very heart of the star was Earth's. At the top of the pentacle was a large sun with nine rays, again for the nine planets it gave warmth to, and at the bottom was a curved crescent moon. It was a beautiful sight, but his gaze did not linger long on it. It moved to the far end of the hall, where there be a dais made of the same material of the hall. _

_Upon the dais stood a woman, as still as a statue, and as dark and mysterious as the hall itself. Her long hair was midnight black with strange highlights of indigo, falling past her feet and trailing behind her. Her tall, thin body was clad in a black gown with spidery black sleeves and a long black shawl over her shoulders, held in place by a brooch of black diamond and dark ameythest. The shawl trailed behind her as well. It looked as though she had not eaten in many days, for the skin stretched upon her bones, revealing their shape. Her skin was vampiric pale, her face thin and bony, her eyes narrow and slanted, colored a color so dark they seemed black. Her lips were brilliant red, the only color on her lifeless face, and she was smiling._

_She spoke in the voice of the female who had offered him the choice, beckoning one long finger towards him. 'Come closer child, I will not harm you,' she whispered, though her voice echoed in the room as though she had screamed those words._

_He walked, though it seemed against his will to do so. She had a gentle smile on her face, a smile one did not associate with a being as dark and dreary as her appearance would suggest. Her black, pupiless eyes looked down upon him and she touched his face with a long finger, ending in a nail that could have been a black talon. Her skin was icy cold to the touch, devoid of all warmth that the living should posses._

'_Who are you?' he asked dumbly, staring into her eyes, eyes that showed only sad emotions. They were pits, not eyes, and if eyes were truly the windows to a person's soul, then this woman had no soul._

'_I am Khalida,' she replied simply, but her next words were anything but simple. 'You are wise, child, refusing the lies and excepting truth, no matter how horrible. Some would say you preferred the sorrow to the happiness.' Her lips parted in a smile, an odd expression for her face. She clasped one of his hands in both of hers and he felt as though he had plunged both into ice. When she withdrew her hands, in his palm lay a silky black feather: a raven's feather. _

'_They say the raven senses death, for it picks upon the bones of cadavers predators leave behind. Scavengers, yes, but they to are wise. Why kill something when the food can be brought to you?' her smile widened slightly as she took the feather from his palm. 'And thus, humans call them demons, when truly they are sages, wise yet misunderstood.' With the sharp tip of the raven's feather, she made a small cut across both of his hands and one of her own._

_He winced in pain, though he had experienced much worse before. He watched as the red blood dribbled across his palms, but his eyes turned to her bleeding hand. Her blood was not red, as was a normal creature's, but jet-black, a demonic mockery of the precious elixir that flowed through the living's veins. He stared in horror at her blood, watching dimly as she smeared it across his palms, mingling his crimson with her black. She closed his hands and his eyes met her black orbs. They were filled with a sort of melancholic happiness, a paradox within itself._

'_The crow is said to guide the souls of the departed to their final resting-place, but that is a mistake,' she breathed in his ear, 'The raven does that. One might go far as to call them . . . Grim Reapers.' An odd glimmer had entered her eyes, but it was there for but a moment, leaving back the sad blackness that belonged in her ivory face._

_She smiled again and tucked the feather behind his ear, brushing back his hair. 'Travel back through the door, young child, to the Plains of Oblivion. They will always welcome you back, for their queen had blessed you.' The folds of her dress ruffled, strands of her indigo-hued hair falling across her face and eyes as though a breeze had blown by. 'Good-bye child, and may you seek solace in the darkness when all seems lost.'_

_Her body seemed to melt into the shadows the lingered in the corners of the room, the very blackness that seemed to make up the entire hall dissolving her flesh until she was gone. He was left alone, still hearing her words vibrate inside his mind and pried his hands apart. A mess of blood held them together, both red and black colors mingling to form a pitiless color. His fingers touched the raven feather tucked behind his ear and felt his face gave a smile. He lightly leapt off the dais and walked towards the door leading to the void abyss. The shadows did not bother him, which was a change from how his heart had been pounding before. The door shut on its own accord behind him, the frame of the once-mirror returning to the shadows of its creation._

_She had called this place the Plains of Oblivion, the name fitting yet not correct in some aspects. There was oblivion, there was nothing, but there was something that nagged at his insides, telling him to search these 'plains' for a hidden existence. When he found none, he heard Khalida's voice whisper in the frigid, still air._

'_Be careful, young child.'_

**Carpathian Mountains, Transylvania, Romania**

There was an unearthly feeling about the old castle the Dark Lord had brought them to. The small man shivered, pulling his black cloak tighter to his body with a large silver hand. Wormtail was not fond of the darkness his master loved, and had little desire to remain in a building that looked as though it had been pulled out of a vampire legend. Yet, Lord Voldemort was waiting, and unless he wished to suffer a horrible punishment, he would wait silently for his orders.

The snake-like man drummed his long fingers on the dark velvet of the armchair he currently sat in, five or six Death Eaters at his side. His merciless red eyes flickered around the dark library, lit only by the crackling fire, and settled upon the golden pocket watch gripped in his right hand. It was a minute till midnight and a cruel smile twisted his lipless mouth when the minute hand moved.

Wormtail jumped when activity stirred in the corners of the room, revealing a man dressed head to foot in black clothing fit for an English gentleman from the eighteenth century. He couldn't have been older then thirty, a man in his prime. His neatly combed blond hair was tied in a ponytail that brushed his shoulder blades, his pale skin flawless, his blue eyes like chips of ice in a frigid face of marble stone. Atop his head sat a top hat, positioned at an angle, his gloved hands gripping the balled end of a cane. He examined Voldemort with mild curiosity and spoke in a crisp, clean voice.

"The Dark Lord, I presume? Yes, I suspected you would be here." Voldemort's red eyes narrowed at the man's arrogant talk and Wormtail could see Bellatrix Lestrange's hand flexing, as though it longed to grip the wand positioned at her hip.

"Aiden Shamshair, correct?" breathed the snake-like wizard, inclining his head very slightly, "The great king of the dragoons." Shamshair took the armchair across from Voldemort, leaning back and examining him closely.

"I see you've done some research. Very well, you contacted me about a bargain. What is it you wish to discuss, milord?" At least the man had some manners, thought Wormtail nervously, eyeing the demon lord.

"I wish to have the dragoons under my command." Shamshair raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, giving a small snort of laughter. The long fingers of the Dark Lord's hand now flexed, similar to Bellatrix's, though it was barely noticeable.

"What would you, a wizard, though great and powerful, have to offer in exchange for the entire dragoon breed?" said Shamshair very quietly and deadly, "We are not mercenaries to be hired by gold, we are demons." It must have been a trick of the firelight, but Wormtail thought he saw the man's eyes flash a lizard-like yellow.

"I offer free destruction. Entire nations would be under your command, to kill, to destroy with the flick of your wrist." The offer clearly interested Shamshair, but the man leaned back in his chair and shifted his shoulders. Wormtail knew only the barest of information on demons, manipulative and immortal, yes, but with power that rivaled the Dark Lord's in even the youngest of the breed.

"You interest me, Lord Voldemort," spoke Shamshair softly, "You interest me _greatly_, and not many do. Consider this though: demons are not humans. We do not have the same laws as you, and demon law forbids me from truly acting against humans. We have remained hidden since the fifteenth century, many wish to still remain hidden." Voldemort's cat-like eyes narrowed and several of the Death Eater's hands flew to their wands. Shamshair raised a hand.

"I will observe you a bit longer, and think of your offer. But I have this to ask. Nearly sixteen years ago, you did not ask for demon help. Why now, or did you finally discover our race's secrets and powers?" Voldemort ground his teeth and whispered in a voice that spelled trouble, possible death, for one of his Death Eaters. Wormtail didn't pity the novices.

"Humans are weak, and they have failed again and again to kill Harry Potter," snarled Voldemort, "I would think demonic assassins would do a better job."

"Ah yes, I though it would come to the boy," said Shamshair with a very annoying smile that didn't last long, "You wish to hire us to kill the boy and be done with it, correct?" Voldemort jerked his head in a nod. "Then I must tell you this. There are greater powers then you or me in the world, and they are at work over the boy. Whither evil or good, I cannot tell you. But, I will consider your offer, and we will meet again. My words to you," here he smiled again, "Necromancy would be a very helpful skill for you. When you kill, revive the dead and bring them to your cause. Until later, I bid you adieu and good-bye."

He tilted his hat and his body seemed to melt into the shadows lingering in the corners of the room. Voldemort sat in silence for a moment, when Bellatrix spoke in a soft, yet steady voice. The dark-haired witch was the only one who could speak with Voldemort without true fear of death. She was his favorite, and all knew it.

"Master, what are your orders?" The Dark Lord stood and turned to the small group of Death Eaters who had come with him to the Transylvanian castle. His face looked expressionless, yet his eyes were filled with malicious desire.

"Aiden Shamshair considers us interesting," he said apathetically, "That is good, very good. You are to look up every single tome, grimoire, scroll and book on Necromancy and bring them to me. And what are you waiting for?" he hissed, "I want them NOW!" All the Death Eaters present flinched and disappperated. Voldemort looked into the crackling flames of the fire.

"There are greater powers, he means the Dark Queen," he spat, "She will aide me. After all, I am darkness, and so is she." His laughter echoed throughout the room bringing dust from the rafters above.

Countries away, it was not Harry Potter who awoke, but his best friend.

Ron Weasley had not seen the plans the Dark Lord had worked on, nor heard his plot with the king of the demon dragons. He had seen darkness, and a woman who radiated shadows with eyes of eternal sadness. His hands were covered in blood that had stained his bedsheets, blood that was (to his relief) red, a natural crimson. It was nearly dawn, the gray hue on the horizon signaling such an early hour. His owl, Pigwidgeon, was mercifully asleep in his rusty cage, feathers constantly ruffling. The tall red head stood with the intent of going to the bathroom and scrubbing the blood from his hands before his mother found out and threw a fit. She was under enough stress as was.

Since Voldemort had made himself publicly known last June, there had been many more muggle attacks, all bearing the Dark Mark hovering over head like the swarms of flies that were attracted to the dead bodies below. Thus, the Order of the Phoenix was working its head off. The Ministry was deploying every single worker with combat training to work things out, his father no exception. It was getting harder and harder to remember his father's face, especially a happy one, since Ron rarely saw him anymore. Molly Weasley was a wreck, dwelling mainly in Grimmauld Place to tidy up the horrible home. Ron and Ginny had no wish to return to the house, not with memories fresh in their minds of a certain animagus. Dumbledore had set up at least a thousand different hexes and spells over the Burrow, including the Fidalus Charm (he being the Secret Keeper). Even so, Mrs. Weasley came by very often to check on her two youngest children, fiddling over the state of the house and their health.

When he passed his sister's bedroom, he looked inside the horridly pink room. Ginny was still fast asleep, her face wet with fresh tears. He didn't need to be a mind reader to know what she was dreaming of, as it had been the only thing on her mind for over a month: the battle at the Department of Mysteries. Ron had tried his best to not think of the horrific event, but found his mind wandered to it whenever he let his guard down. Harry was certainly thinking of it, the dark-haired teen had written no letters to either he or Hermione and only sent them to the Order, which Mrs. Weasley had said, contained the same two sentences each time and nothing more. (_I'm fine. Don't worry_.) And of course, that only made Mrs. Weasley worry more.

Ron felt strangely off balance as he walked along the hall and down the staircase to the third floor bathroom the family all shared. It was usually a mess, what with having to share it between nine different family members at alternate times. Most of his parent's items had been moved from the large room to Grimmauld Place, all of his older brother's possessions gone. Bill had gotten himself a London apartment, Charlie was still in Romania, Fred and George had bought out rooms above their new joke shop and Percy . . . Percy was still being an arrogant git. In his most recent letter, which had been burned furiously by Ginny, he had said many things that made Ron want to blast him off the family tree.

(_You-Know-Who only recently come back, certainly hasn't been back for a year . . . Dolores Umbridge had every right to do what she did . . . Minister under a lot of stress, don't blame him for the situation . . . Stay away from Potter . . .)_

It was this last part that made his insides burn. In his elder brother's opinion, Harry was even more unstable because of the stress put upon him and Ron should stay away because he may lash out to relieve that stress.

The hot water felt good against his skin as he scrubbed the blood off his palms. He thought it was just his tired brain playing trick on him, but he thought his hands seemed smaller, the fingers longer . . . Some of the blood had dried very fast and after scrapping off a layer of crimson, he found a very unnerving sight. Dried blood, colored ebony, discolored his freckled skin, mingled with the faint traces of red. He had thought the dream was just that, a bizarre dream due to stress and lack of sleep. (Most of his own dreams had been recounting Harry's blank, horrid face when he told Hermione and Ron about Sirius's death and various scenes from the battle at the department.) But to see actual black blood was . . . it just wasn't right.

Ron glanced up into the mirror hanging over the sink and gave a loud scream that certainly woke Ginny up on the floor above. He heard her fall to the floor with a crash and her voice yell out his name. He didn't really hear her though, more concerned about his appearance.

His hair was streaked with black, the very tips black, giving the slight resemblance of burning charcoal. His entire face shape had change, resembling more a thinner and angular shape, though still recognizable as his own. His nose was shorter and tucked behind one ear was a feather, the raven feather that Khalida woman had placed there. He seemed to have lost an inch or two in height, his eyes were a darker shade of blue and his ears unnaturally pointed, like an elf's. The strangest and most frightening feature he now had were the two large wings that protruded from his back. The feathers were black and silky, the wings tightly folded on either side of his spine, fashioned to either shoulder blade. He cursed through clenched teeth, running both hands through his hair and knocking the feather loose. He didn't care though, but certainly did when the bathroom door was knocked open, revealing Ginny holding both her wand and a muggle baseball bat.

There was a moment's silence as Ginny dropped both her items and stared in shock at her older brother. Knowing she was going to scream, he hurriedly clapped a hand over her mouth and hissed, "Ginny, it's me, Ron!"

"Bloody hell!" she yelled, knocking his hand out of the way, "What the hell happened to _you!_"

"How should I know?" he hissed, "Mum's going to go mad if she sees me."

"I don't blame her," said Ginny, her face milk white under all the freckles, "You have wings." He groaned and hit his head repeatedly against the wall. Ginny pulled him back by his collar. "Do you want to write the letter, or should I?" she asked, trying and failing to keep a calm voice.

"What letter? To Dumbledore?" Ginny rolled her green eyes, crossing her arms.

"Before we involve the whole Order in this, let's ask a certain friend of yours. After all, in your own words," said the witch, jabbing her finger into Ron's chest, "'Hermione must have read the whole library, why does she need to constantly go back into it?'"

Yes, Hermione probably would know the answer, and it would be better then telling the Order of the Phoenix. Mad-Eye Moody would probably go nuts, proclaiming Ron some sort of demon and his mother would shriek and fuss like crazy. Ron sighed and picked up the fallen feather, twirling it in his hands absent-mindedly. "You write the letter," he finally said and Ginny gave a curt nod, dragging him up to her bedroom.

Ron hated Ginny's room with a passion. The walls were sugar-pink and hidden under posters of the Weird Sisters and various good-looking wizards. Her bed was covered in a patchwork quilt with various colors of pink and pale purple, making him gag. Her school trunk was still neatly packed, in fact everything in the room seemed to be meticulously clean and tidy. Ron supposed it was a girl thing, Hermione was the same way. Ginny sat down at her desk and began to scribble on a piece of parchment before stopping midway.

"Ron, should we tell Harry?" He shook his head.

"Probably wouldn't read the stupid thing. He hasn't replied to any of our letters in a month."

Ginny bit her lip, watching Ron sit on her aged bed, still twirling the raven feather. She had to admit, she liked his new look, though her eyes did not stay long on his face and traveled constantly to his black wings. Those scared her, reminding her of some sort of fallen angel. "We should at least try," she offered and he shrugged.

"Don't hope for a reply. He's still probably eating himself up over Sirius." She sighed and returned to Hermione's letter. It wasn't very long, but it got the message across quite well. Pushing it to the side, she dipped her quill back into the inkwell and began to write a letter to Harry. Her handwriting was much neater this time, something that caught Ron's attention at once. He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you still fancy Harry." Scarlet blush rose in Ginny's cheeks and she snapped her reply a little too quickly. Ron sniggered, whereas she threw the book perched on her bedside table at him. He caught it with reflexes a little too controlled by his usual standards.

"How on Earth . . .?"

"Just write, Ginny."

She sighed deeply and wrote more to the letter. It was more then an explanation of Ron's predicament, it was a blast from reality to Harry.

(_Dear Harry, _

_I know you probably aren't going to read this letter, but on the off chance that you do, here it is. I hope your feeling okay, we've been really worried about you all summer. I know you say the muggles are treating you okay, but I don't believe it with your behavior. Ron and I'd really like it if you came over to the Burrow this summer, it's just the two of us in the house. Mum and Dad are about to have a nervous breakdown, Bill and Charlie are busy with work, like Fred and George, and Percy hasn't changed. Here her handwriting had gotten a little sloppy at the memory of the spectacled Weasley, but she didn't elaborate any further. Speaking of Ron, something really strange is going on with him. He looks different, and not in a good way. _

_Harry, we just want you to know its not your fault about Sirius. He was a good man, and he died honorably. None of us really know him as well as you, except Professor Lupin, so we can't help you as much as we would like. Harry, please don't blame yourself. No one else blames you. We'd really like it if you asked Mum to come stay with us, Ron and I really miss you. Hermione might come._

_With love,_

_Ginny.)_

The letter finished, she stood and Ron looked up at her. "Where are you going?"

"To get something to eat," she said sarcastically, "To get Pig. Letters won't fly off themselves, you know."

"Don't touch anything in my room!" he yelled after her as she climbed up the circular stairwell to her brother's room.

Ron sighed deeply, examing his still blood covered palms and the feather that was now slick with his own blood. He frowned, looking at the thick liquid coming from the cuts on his hand. His blood was turning darker, now a deep, brandy color instead of the usual brownish-red that was natural. He remembered the dark woman, Khalida, and something in his chest burned. He knew, somehow, that the woman was more then just a figment of his imagination, that she was real and that she had done this to him.

Her sorrowful eyes burnt into his head and he heard her voice echo in the deep regions of his mind. 'Be careful.' Be careful of what? He leaned against the wall, only to fell sharp pain run through his body. He had almost crushed his new wings, which ruffled slightly. Ginny returned, holding onto a struggling Pig with both hands. The small gray owl's eyes were wide and they grew wider still when he laid eyes upon his mater. His body went limp, though he was certainly alive.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. I think it has something to do with you," replied Ginny, setting Pig down on the desk and attempting to tied both parchment shafts to his leg. It wasn't an easy task, and it was a sloppy job when finished.

"Go to Hermione," said Ginny slowly to the bird, "Then Harry. Remember them?" The owl did nothing but turn its eyes to Ron. He gave a fluttering hoot of happiness and when Ginny released him out the window, he flew off as fast as his small wings could take him.

"I have a feeling we aren't going to like the answer Hermione gives us," said Ginny sagely. Ron's stomach twisted into a knot. He agreed with his younger sister completely.

**Hogwarts Castle**

Albus Dumbledore, esteemed headmaster of Hogwarts School, looked down upon the resume of his new professor. It was impressive, valedictorian of Sakura Mitsukai's Western Academy of Magical Females, auror of the Japanese Ministry of Magic, top class, recently stepped down, daughter of the ambassador of Japan for the International Confederation of Wizards _and_ the Japanese Minister of Magic. The man's brilliant blue eyes turned to the woman seated in front of him, prim and proper like her upbringing.

She was no a normal woman in appearance. She was an albino, her long white hair cut in an arc whose tips touched her thighs but the middle of the arc brushed her low back, even when some of it was bundle into a knot at the top of her head. Her red eyes were slanted and elegant, the white eyebrows perfectly shaped and her pointed face bringing in a sense of mystery. Her lips were red and small, her build unnaturally tall for a woman and slim, muscular to a certain degree. She was dressed in a kimono made of perfectly white silk, the large ribbon dark blue, like the ribbons that were tied to the bun in her hair. Her wand was perched on her lap and there was a smile on her face.

"Well, Miss. Shirogane, you certainly have an impressive list of accomplishments." She smiled serenely and nodded her head in a small bow. Her voice was soft with a Kansai dialect. "Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore." He smiled gently.

"Minister Fudge certainly picked well for our new professor." There was a faint hint of disgust in the wizard's voice. Fudge had removed Dolores Jane Umbridge from her post but he had not removed any of the decrees, giving the post of High Inquisitor and all its powers to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor the minister appointed. It took all of Dumbledore's cunning to get Harry Potter back on his house quidditch team and he didn't dare bring up a finger against the already unstable Fudge. Dumbledore did not dislike Fudge's new professor; in fact she seemed perfectly qualified for the job, if not a little mysterious.

The one thing the old wizard did not like was the bodyguard that followed Shirogane. The tall man with the strangest hair color of pale turquoise (which had been explained as a childhood accident with a misfired charm) was cold and distant, though fiercely loyal to his sister and charge. Dumbledore knew Ryu Shirogane was standing right outside the door, prepared to burst in at the slightest noise of trouble.

Shirogane cleared her throat. "Headmaster Dumbledore, may I ask permission to train your students in combat?" His snowy eyebrows rose and the albino continued. "Both dueling in the magical and muggle sense. It would be foolish to leave them unprepared for an attack by Lord Voldemort, and it would certainly surprise his Death Eaters if they come face to face with a second year with sword fighting skills."

The idea was interesting. "Yes, magical weapons haven't been used for over a thousand years. It would surprise Voldemort. You have my permission, Professor Shirogane."

"Then I will ask Headmistress McGonagall to include a short sword and lance on the supplies list. Do I have permission to leave?"

Dumbledore nodded and the Japanese witch stood and strode from the room, rejoining her brother behind the mahogany door of his office. He certainly had mixed feelings for his new professor. Her ideas were unique, her appearance giving her a mysterious aura and no amount of skill would be able to crack through her mind. She was certainly well trained.

And beautiful, he thought to himself with a smile, as he popped a lemon drop into his mouth.

_**End of Chapter One: Shades of Yet to Come**_


	2. Words of Shadow, Words of Strife

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

_**Chapter Two: Words of Shadows, Words of Strife**_

_**My Last Breath  
**__**Singer  
**__**Evanescence**_

_Hold on to me love_

_You know I can't stay long_

_All I wanted to say was I love you and I'm not afraid_

_Can you hear me?_

_Can you feel me in your arms?_

_Holding my last breath_

_Safe inside myself_

_Are all my thoughts of you_

_Sweet raptured light it ends here tonight_

_I'll miss the winter_

_A world of fragile things_

_Look for me in the white forest_

_Hiding in a hollow tree (come find me)_

_I know you hear me_

_I can taste it in your tears_

_Holding my last breath_

_Safe inside myself_

_Are all my thoughts of you_

_Sweet raptured light it ends here tonight_

_Closing your eyes to disappear_

_You pray your dreams will leave you here_

_But still you wake and know the truth_

_No one's there_

_Say goodnight_

_Don't be afraid_

_Calling me calling me as you fade to black_

**Dreamscape**

_There was pitiless hatred dwelling within the eyes of the man who had been both a father and brother to him for two years. The face of Sirius Black was sunken worse then ever, his stringy and unwashed hair falling across his skull-like face, his blue eyes dead and devoid of the warmth he had come to cherish. The room was empty, save for the convicted convict and himself. Sirius was clutching his wand, while he had no defense._

'_You killed me, Potter,' snarled Sirius, his eyes mad with a demonic hatred, 'You brought me to my death, you arrogant bastard!'_

'_No,' gasped Harry, trying to back away from Sirius, his own eyes wide in horror, salty tears threatening to escape, 'I-I di-didn't mean to . . .'_

'_Didn't mean to?' said Sirius calmly and threw back his head, giving his trademark bark-like laughter, 'You murdered me! You killed your godfather Potter! You're the reason why Lily and James are dead, you're the reason Cedric is dead! You might as well have been the one who fired the curse.' Sirius pulled back his lips to reveal his teeth in a mockery of a smile. 'You are no better then Voldemort.'_

_Harry backed away as Sirius advanced, his wand raised like a sword. 'You wanted to play the hero, didn't you? You wanted the praises of your friends.' He put on a high, false female voice, his hands clasped over his heart. 'Ohh, you saved Sirius! Let me worship the ground you walk on Harry! You're a god, a hero, our savior!' He threw back his head and laughed a high cold laugh. Voldemort's laugh._

_Harry fell to his knees, clutching his head as tears spilled from his eyes. Sirius was right, he was a murderer. The form of his godfather was changing, assuming the form of the monstrous Grim with flaming red eyes and teeth that could have torn his body to shreds. 'Die, Potter, pay for your sins with your blood,' he whispered in a voice that was not his own, 'Redeem the honor to your fallen victims.' A sword appeared in Harry's hand, the blade stained with blood. Blood from his parents, Cedric and Sirius. The blood of the innocence was what stained the once bright, holy metal. _

_Harry looked at the demonic weapon for a long time before getting to his feet with the sword clutched tightly in his hands. The Grim bared its teeth in a malicious smile. 'Yes, kill yourself.' Harry's emerald gaze fell to the ground as he raised the blade over his chest, ready to pierce through his heart. He plunged it down and -_

'_NO!' It was a voice Harry did not know, a female voice filled with horrified sadness. Through his pain, the wizard saw a figure with long red hair dart from the shadows and slam into the Grim. The woman was not tall, nor was she short, but her build was slim and curvy. Long, dark red hair, the color of blood, fell to her waist and in her heart-shaped face, almond shaped green eyes burned in hatred._

'_Beast of the shadows, be gone,' hissed the woman, her eyes burning daggers into the shaggy specter dog. The Grim smirked in its horrid way. 'Your too late, Evans, your son dies even as you watch.' Harry looked down and felt his lungs empty from oxygen. Blood was staining his shirt and the floor, from the wound caused by the sword protruding from his chest. With dying eyes, Harry turned his gaze back upon that of the massive Grim. The shadows of the room began to eat at the flesh of the dog, stripping it to bare bones that crumbled to dust. The woman turned to him, her eyes filled with tears._

'_Good Lord, please live Harry,' she breathed, dropping down to him. He could make out her clothing, a gown on white and silver silk with platinum embroidered into the hem, neck and sleeves, and her scared, pale face, but the rest of the world was fading fast._

_He smiled and reached out a shaking hand that the woman grasped. 'Mum,' he managed to gasp, 'I'll be . . . with you . . . and Dad . . .'_

_Her bottom lip trembled and the tears poured from her eyes. 'No, Harry please, you have to live. Don't let yourself die.'_

_He frowned. Didn't she want him to be with her? Wouldn't any mother want to be with their child again, to hold them in her arms and say they will never leave? He closed his eyes, breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. He felt another hand grip his shoulder and shake it, as one would shake someone to try and get sense into them. A man's voice, sounding hysterical, cried out._

'_No! Lily, he can't die, can he? The queen promised he wouldn't, he'd be safe . . .'_

'_Harry, please live.'_

_Harry's smile was a horrid mockery of the usually happy expression. 'Mum . . . Dad . . .' Another woman, her voice as smooth as glass, spoke. 'Do you truly wish to die?'_

_The pain was lessening. Harry grit his teeth. 'Yes, I wish to die. Let me die!'_

_The woman's voice was full of sorrowful sympathy and regret. 'Child, why? Why do you want to throw away your life?'_

'_I have no life,' he snapped, 'I am just a weapon for the light. Darkness wants me dead. I belong to neither.'_

'_Darkness, you know not true darkness,' said the woman smoothly, still sounding enviously calm, 'What you call darkness is a man wanting to be a demon. I will not let him achieve this, and none of my children will acknowledge him as an enemy or ally. I am true darkness, the Queen of Oblivion, and true darkness is everything you see.'_

_He swallowed hard, blood flowing freely into his mouth. The woman continued to speak, her voice growing colder. 'You have friends who love you like a family and will support you no matter what your decision. Whither you leave the light to become darkness or remain as a mindless tool by all you know, so be it. I have watched you for a long time, child, and I thought you were wiser then this.' Here her voice was a bizarre mixture of anger and sorrow, eyes narrowing. 'I didn't think you were a coward.'_

_Anger bubbled inside his chest and he snapped at the unseen woman through teeth clenched in fury. 'I am not a coward!' he gasped, chest burning in pain from the sword still lodged in his abdomen. _

'_Oh really? Prove yourself worthy of my blessing.' Her voice was bemused, and taunting. His eyelids were heavy when he tried to pry them apart and he was horribly weak when he moved. His body screamed as the white-hot fires of agony tore at his flesh and insides when he tried to get himself to sit up. He made out the blurry outlines of four people, three of which yelling soundless words. The woman in the front had a shrewd expression of curiosity on her face as she watched him. Her red lips curled into a smile._

'_Yes, you are a stubborn one child, much like your father,' she said with a thin lipped smile, 'Little boy, I am Khalida of Oblivion. I am darkness, which you have been told to hate for their evil ways. Darkness is not all evil, light is not all good. In fact, those who honor themselves to the light are more quixotic then good. I know you have sly, manipulative blood within you, blood that is called shameful to the light. Yet you are just and honorable, traits insulting to the darkness. You are neither, but you are both. What side do you truly wish to be upon? Light, the holy savior, has deceived you. Darkness, the impure dictator, offers you aid.' She waved her hand and stepped aside, revealing the three people at her side._

_They were his parents, and Sirius._

_Lily Potter, clad in a gown of white and silver silk, wore the finest jewelry at her wrists and ears, a necklace bearing a lily flower made from the finest of jewels, hung on a platinum chain around her neck. The pendent rested between her breasts. She was every bit as beautiful as people described her, but her face held no laughter lines, only lines of sadness creased the skin around her eyes. Her emerald eyes, eyes that mirrored his eerily perfect, were flicked with sorrow. A tall man with untidy black hair and a face Harry saw in the mirror each morning held her gently. His hazel eyes were likewise sad and were behind glasses that had a platinum edge. He wore armor colored deep crimson with silver mail between the plates, a red, gold trimmed cape fashioned to his shoulders. A rapier was at his side, the hilt finest of gold with ruby shards mingled into the mold. Both were barely into their twenties, not even, just the tender age of eighteen, too young to be parents and certainly too young to be dead._

_Next to the couple was the man Harry had grown to love as a father figurehead, Sirius. The older wizard looked very odd standing next to his friends, who were some fifteen years younger then him. His long, dark hair (now washed) was tied back in a ponytail, his face fuller then Harry had seen it in a long while. His blue eyes still held the empty look Azkaban prison had left there, but they looked happier, though a sad happiness. Like James, he to was clad in armor, though it was black with platinum edging. His sword had an old-fashioner look to it, the wire-wrapped hilt deep brandy red with a fat black diamond set into it. He was looking at Harry with a sad smile._

'_Those you love never truly leave you,' quoted Lily, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder, 'We've been watching you Harry, and we couldn't be prouder of you.' James seemed at a loss for words and simply smiled his pleasure at his son._

_The woman calling herself Khalida looked at Lily, who began to unfasten her pendent. His mother walked towards him and placed the pendent in his palm, curling his fingers around its smooth exterior. 'The lily represents peace and sincerity, virtues that are alien to you,' her words sagged in sorrow as she held his fist, 'We want you to have a good life, Harry, one not controlled by others. Chose your own path, we will help.'_

'_Hold Lily's pendent and speak one of our names and we'll talk to you,' said Sirius, 'And tell Snape to wash his hair for once.' James snorted in laughter and jammed his elbow into his friend's gut._

'_Harry, remember there are those who love you in both this world and the next,' said his father for the first time, his voice similar to Harry's but older and with more of a childish playfulness, 'Try and enjoy life as best you can.' Lily lightly kissed his cheek and said, before releasing his hand, 'Demons are not evil, nor are they good. They act upon their best interests and nothing more.'_

_Khailda strode forward, similar sorrow and happiness deep within her black gaze. 'Your choice, Harry? Light or darkness.'_

_He did not answer for a moment, thinking over what each side had done to him. The light had helped him, yes, but they were the reason why he was so miserable. They lied, kept secrets and tricked him, all to keep him 'safe'. The darkness had stolen his parents, but were Khalida's words true? Was Voldemort actually dark? As if the woman had read his thoughts, she spoke in her soft, mysterious voice._

'_You see Voldemort as the darkness, but he sees himself acting upon the light. Two sides of a coin, when you flip it, you have no idea what you will land on.' He didn't understand her words and his voice was slow when he answered._

'_Can there be a limbo? The gray shade of white and black?' It seemed he had spoken the magic words. Their faces all split into truly happy grins and Khalida nodded to Lily who stood and rejoined her husband. The dark-clad woman then knelt by Harry and her black eyes peered deep into his own. Her thin, bony fingers took Lily's necklace and attached it around his neck. _

'_The wolf is a brave and valiant fighter. It protects its innocent young and kills only to survive. Tales of the wolf-man go back as far as history is archived, bringing together two of the worlds most dangerous beings.' Similar to Lily's behavior, she clutched her hands over his palm and when she lifted them up, a pearl-colored canine fang lay there. James shot a dark look at Khalida, who's own look silenced the words he was about to say. Sirius gripped his friend's shoulder._

'_The wolf is tricky and stubborn. Once in a fight, it will not back down. Similar to bravery you display in all your activities, young child,' spoke Khailda as she picked up the fang and made two long dashes across both of his palms. It wasn't very painful, at least by his standards. Khailda did similar to one of her palms, where he noted there were several other white scars. Her blood was black and it dribbled slowly down her palm and wrist. She pressed her hand in between both of his, the fang still held in her hand. It was left in his hand when she let go._

'_Bravery is a trait merited to the house of Godric Gryffindor, and a trait strong in the wolf. Yet also in the wolf you see a need to defend ones self. The wolf will abandon its own pups if the danger is too great for themselves. This to is bravery, but in a darker way, a way prized amongst Salazar Slytherin. Those two forms of bravery show both animals and humans have both a light and dark side in their build,' spoke the dark woman as her body melted into the darkness of the small room._

_James turned to his son. 'Stay strong. We'll help you as best we can, Harry.'_

Harry's eyes opened from his nightmare-turned-dream, wishing it could have gone on forever. His parents, and Sirius, together . . . He felt something smooth in his right fist and opened it. His vision was blurred by his lack of glasses, but when he pulled them on he felt his jaw drop and eyes widen. Upon his blood stained palm lay the small fang the dark woman had given him. His fingers then moved to his neck, where he felt a smooth chain and looking down, he saw his mother's pendent. The lily flower, crafted from delicate ivory and emerald, was innocently pressed against his chest. Tears burned in the inner corner of his eyes and he hastily wiped them on his sleeve before they escaped across his cheeks. If the necklace and fang were real, then his unconscious stabbing . . .

It was true. Across his stomach lay a half-healed scar, dark red in color and raw to the touch. A smile spread across his face for the first time since his godfather's death as he hooked the chain around his neck, touching the flower pendent. He had met his parents, in his dreams, yes, but Harry had learned the hard way that his dreams were anything but normal. He jumped when he heard his cousin snore in the next room. Dudley was snoring louder then before.

Dawn was coming, judging from the hues of pink and orange in the sky that proceeded sunrise. He dressed quickly and looked at his reflection. He bit down on his tongue to hold back a scream, stumbling backwards.

He looked bizarrely different, taller by an inch or two, his dark hair now chin length with two locks of white hair on either side of his face. His face had become more angular, the skin tanner then it should have been. His build was slimmer, his fingers thinner, the nails longer and more finely shaped (why hadn't he noticed that earlier?) but there was an inhuman quality to his already slanted eyes. The pupils had become slits and the irises were larger then they had been. What really got him were the distinctly animalistic qualities to his new body. His canine teeth had extended, resembling vampire fangs, and his ears had become longer, conical like a wolf's, and covered in jet-black fur. The main horror was the bushy yet elegant tail that curled around his thighs. The fur was black, streaked with white. He swallowed hard, examining his hands and running the fingers across his ears and tail. They were as real as the mirror depicted them.

Remembering his mother's words in his dream, he clutched the flower pendent with both hands. He ran his tongue across his teeth, feeling their unnaturalness and spoke in the softest voice he could muster.

"Sirius?" his voice sounded slightly different with his new fangs, his tongue not used to touching them.

**Yes, you called?** Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard his godfather's voice speak in his mind. He breathed one sigh of relief before his words tumbled from his mouth.

"Sirius, something's wrong, very wrong. I've got a _tail._"

**. . . You do realize you're underage.**

"I'm not drunk!" he snapped, eyes glued to the mirror. "I'm like some half-dog thing."

**Write to Dumbledore.** The thought of telling the aged wizard made his stomach twist in a knot of anger.

"He wouldn't tell me anything," he snapped, "Isn't there anything else I could do?"

**Harry, Dumbledore would know best.**

"You've got to know something else! Anyone else I could tell?"

**Remus, maybe, or even Hermione.**

"Do, would my parents know anything?" he asked. The words felt extremely odd to say.

**I don't think so.**

"Thanks Sirius." He let go of the pendent, noticing how some of the ivory had been stained with his fresh blood. He didn't care but ran to the desk, nearly tripping over his new tail. He gave it a dark glare and grabbed the quill. He'd write to Hermione first, she must have memorized the whole library at Hogwarts. His handwriting was sloppy and barely readable, but he was sure if the witch could read Hagrid's scrawl, then his handwriting would be fine.

(_Hermione,_

_Something's really strange. I had this bizarre dream and I woke up as some sort of canine hybrid. Tell me EVERYTHING you know about this sort of thing ASAP!_

_Harry.)_

Hedwig was out hunting, he'd have to wait. He ground his teeth, his canine teeth cutting into his lip and a coppery taste filled his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind going over every Transfiguration lesson he had ever had. His frantic thinking was interrupted, however, by the arrival of a scared looking Pigwidgeon, the gray owl's feathers on end and a note hastily attached to his leg. His eyes grew wide when Harry reached a hand towards the small bird.

"Hush, Pig, it's me!" he snapped and the bird instantly quieted. He undid the note and read Ginny's neat handwriting. Her words had little effect on him, knowing he could still talk with Sirius in his mind, but his eyes caught the words in the middle of the letter.

_. . .Speaking of Ron, something really strange is going on with him. He looks different, and not in a good way . . ._

He turned over Ginny's letter and scribbled a reply.

(_DIFFERENT HOW! SOMETHING SCREWED UP HAPPENED TO ME, I LOOK LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A MUGGLE SCI-FI MOVIE. _He knew they probably didn't know what a sci-fi movie was, but he didn't give a damn currently)

Tying the letter back to Pig, he turned to his letter for Hermione. "Can you bring this to Hermione too?" he asked softly and the bird gave a hoot he took for a yes. The scrap of parchment fit on nicely and soon the small owl was off. With a deep sigh, Harry went to hide in his wardrobe. Certainly Aunt Petunia would not approve of his current . . . situation.

**Unknown Location**

The large mansion was old, very old, and the estate surrounding the almost palace-like structure was untamed forestland. The building was made of marble, both white and black, emerald ivy growing on the sides and on the roof was an ivory angel, the wings chipped and broken, and the statue's hands were folded over her heart. You could not call the statue-monstrosity an angel, especially since what remained of its wings were chiseled ebony marble. The inside of the manor was filled with an assortment of bizarre artifacts, collected from civilizations long since dead and buried beneath the Earth. One Aiden Shamshir wandered these halls, his hat positioned so that his right eye caught very little of his surrounding world. The green and black halls were dark; the little light that entered the room was from the moon in the sky outside.

Shamshir sighed and pushed his top hat back, taking the time to look at an Aztec idol, though not really seeing it. He had many thoughts running through his brain, and though the questions were all different, they all had their origins in one man: Lord Voldemort. His offer had little effect on the demon lord in truth, though many of his kinsmen would jump on the opportunity to do casual genocide to the people who had stripped the demons of so much. If he joined with the Dark Lord, he would gain revenge for the long millenniums his people spent dwelling in shadows. Yet, the con would be bringing more unneeded prejudice to the demon race and perhaps another war would erupt. A war that would certainly be more destructive then the last one.

Though he certainly did not look it, Shamshir had been alive when the last Demon-Human war had taken place over five hundred years ago. Humans still remember them as the Crusades, the Holy Wars. A smile stretched his flawless face at the memories still buried in the deep recesses of his mind. He had been a soldier, young and talented, quickly promoted to general. When his commanding officer, the last dragoon king, had fallen to the sword of a human leader, the dying demon's final words had declared Aiden Shamshir the new king.

There was silence that echoed through the wide halls of the mansion, broken only when Shamshir heaved a heavy sigh and paused in his walk to examine a case full of well crafted demon weapons. Demons used similar weapons to humans, swords, lances, axes and (more recently) guns. Shamshir himself preferred a good rifle to a spear and flexed his long fingers, looking at a highly polished pearl-handled pistol lying on a velvet cushion inside the case. The only difference between the weapons of the two races was that demons added more magic into the metal and wood. They would never break and could be used in a similar state as a wizard's wand if times called for the desperate.

A female voice cut through his musing, a voice with an Osaka dialect he knew only too well. Turning his head, his ice colored orbs bore into the navy eyes of a woman dressed in clothing that had died out with Queen Victoria. Her full-length dress curled around her legs, the gray shawl drapped around her shoulders held there by a circular ivory brooch. Her black hair was pulled into a tight braid with sharply cut locks surrounding her sly face. He jerked his head in a small nod, acknowledging the queen of the kitsune foxes.

The demoness calling herself Makai Mitsukai gave her trademark grin, more of a feral smile then actual mirth. "Aiden Shamshir, it's been too long, too long indeed. Your loyalties waver; I see it in your build." Her dark eyes narrowed. "Torn between the unruly nature of the people you command and the reason you have in your blood. Will you disgrace your mother – ?"

Shamshir flung his cane towards Mitsukai, who simply dodged the flying object. It had been thrown with such force that when it hit the Greek vase behind her, it shattered into a thousand pieces instantly. His blue eyes had turned a fierce shade of yellow, his hands to clawed talons and teeth to fangs.

"Don't ever mention my mother again Makai!" he snarled, "Her name is already smeared upon the filth of this planet!"

The kitsune queen simply smiled her dark grin, eyes twinkling in vicious merriment. "Such the fiery temperament, Aiden, so similar red fire that colors your wings. I came to offer you small assistance."

"It is not often the manipulative and all-knowing kitsune intervene with the other breeds," he said with the same cold and animalistic tone, "What is it you wish of me?"

Mitsukai's grin remained unchanged as she tossed back her long black hair. Where the faint moonlight caught it, he saw a flicker of indigo highlights in the ebony. "Why would I need anything of yours, King Aiden? I tell you to simply look for those connected with the Realms. You can sense their auras as well as I. Acheron is in one all know of, Celestia in the one so obscure in shadows."

"You speak in riddles, as per your norm," he snapped with a bite of impatience.

"Do I really? Do I speak in riddles when it is you who speaks to Riddle?" He turned his head in shame from the woman, his clawed hands curling and uncurling from fists.

"I know you've spoken with the semi-human lord, Aiden, and I see the conflict in your being. Play the part of an actor. As the curtain rises and the first act begins, the world is your audience to except and believe the words that flow from your red lips." Her cruel smile was in place, a metallic hue to her navy eyes. "None can see your true intentions, for we demons are manipulative and horrid bastards and bitches, spawn of the devil-king Satan."

"You took that from the archives, didn't you?" he said with a bitter laugh, returning to his human guise. His top hat had fallen to the floor and he picked it up, dusting it before setting it back on his head at its jaunty angle.

"We are all inferior to something, Aiden, even gods tremble at the might of the universe, the universe at the reality we kitsune bend. Thus the circle of fear and superiority continues." Her tricky words rivaled even the dark queen's. "Despite our inferior stature, we make the most of our power. Play the puppet master to the Dark Lord; make sure you hold the strings. Give him what he wishes, though at the most basic degree. Remember that our race depends on what you tell him. Though . . ." Her voice trailed off as she went deep into thought.

"Though what?" he snapped, examining her pleasurable expression that curled her lips and made her eyes twinkle in crude merriment. He had never liked Mitsukai, the legendary ten-tailed kitsune queen. Her fellow kinsmen called her but 'the Lady', for her awesome power was said to rival that of a goddess. He had seen the illusions she summoned, great powers not to be taken lightly, and the worlds that dwelt within the confines of her mind were . . . there was not enough words in all the languages combined to describe those worlds. Her insanity was infamous as well, insanity that had been in state for over three thousand years.

She turned from him and walked towards the weapons case he had previously examined, her eyes lingering on a wickedly curved falchion. Her voice was low and casual, something that spelled trouble for most. "Aiden, you remember the fall of the utopia that existed before human writing? A world, with just demons?" It sounded like a sort of nightmarish dream.

He did not remember, having not lived until the fifteenth century when the last great demon-human war had been fought. Mitsukai continued in the same soft voice. "I remember it. There was no war, no sickness, and the Dark Queen and the Light King lived on the land with us, as one. Khalida and Athar, the perfect yin-yang. Then, Athar made the humans as Khalida made the demons. Oh how humans hated us. They call us barbarians when it was they who hunted us for no reason. I remember my mother sobbing to the great monarchs to destroy the humans. She had come back to me and said that there was a plan that would involve all of us when the time came."

She sighed and her fingertips brushed the glass. "The queen and king eventually left Earth and settled in their respective lands. I doubt they even remember each other. For a long time I thought our gods had abandoned us to dwell in the darkness of our birth. Then I remembered my mother's words and realized the painting that was just beginning to be colored."

Her navy gaze returned to a befuddled Shamshir. He was grinding his teeth and she simply flashed him a smile. "The Dark Lord begins to search for Necromancy literature. Tell him to find gene splicing as well." Her voice was growing hysterical now, hysterically mad, her eyes widening with an emotion he did not know.

"That is a muggle term, he will never take it," he said darkly.

Her voice was high pitched and cracking now, unable to hold on to her last remaining vestiges of sanity. "Then say it to him differently. Blood fusion should have the same effect. Give him demon blood and tell him to mix it with his followers, those who hide behind masks of skulls. Then, then they will have the right to call themselves Death Eaters!"

Mitsukai threw back her head and her cold, cruel laughter echoed in every nook of the old building, shaking dust from the ceiling and burning the little marrow in his bones. This was the first time Aiden Shamshir had ever heard the kitsune queen laugh and hoped it would be his only.

_**End Chapter Two: Words of Shadows, Words of Strife**_


	3. Escape

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

_**Chapter Three: Escape**_

_**Paradise  
**__**Singer  
**__**Vanessa Carlton**_

_Once upon a year gone by_

_She saw herself give in_

_Every time she closed her eyes_

_She saw what could have been_

_Well nothing hurts and nothing bleeds_

_When covers tucked in tight_

_Funny when the bottom drops_

_How she forgets to fight . . . to fight_

_And it's one more day in paradise_

_One more day in paradise_

_As darkness quickly steals the light_

_That shinned within her eyes_

_She slowly swallows all her fear_

_And soothes her mind with lies_

_Well all she wants and all she needs_

_Are reasons to survive_

_A day in which the sun will take_

_Her artificial light . . . her light_

_And it's one more day in paradise_

_One more day in paradise_

_It's one more day in paradise_

_One last chance to feel alright . . . alright_

_Don't pretend to hold it in just let it out_

_Don't pretend to hold it in just push it out_

_Don't you try to hold it in just let it out and_

_Don't you try to hold it in you hold it in_

_And it's one more day in paradise_

_One more day in paradise_

_It's one more day in paradise_

_One last chance to feel alright . . . alright_

_Once upon a year gone by_

_She saw herself give in_

_Every time she closed her eyes_

_She saw what could have been_

**4 Privet Drive**

Harry made a mental note to one day clean his wardrobe. He had spent most of the morning in the uncomfortably small space, making sure Aunt Petunia wouldn't come up to try and pry him form the bedroom. She had come up once, early in the morning, to give him his usual list of chores, only to find an empty room. He had held his breath to try and keep silent, listening to the muggle housewife's ramblings to the air.

"The freak probably snuck out and drank himself into a coma. Oh, if the neighbors hear this . . ."

He had to bite his tongue to keep laughter from escaping. There was the fact that she was sounded insane having a full-blown conversation with the air about his criminal qualities, and the fact that her precious son was out doing that exact thing. Dudley had been getting drunk almost every night since the first week of July, and now it was almost the end of the month and Harry's birthday. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had swallowed all of his honeyed lies about having innocent fun with his gang, though Harry was sure they'd notice the bags around their son's eyes and the sunken look his face had taken on from various drugs. Of course the neighbors realized what was going on, it was their children being beaten to a pulp by the massive boxer.

When he was sure she would not come back into the room, he pushed the door open and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The brilliant summer sunshine filtered in to his room through the open window, upon whose sill rested three owls. Two he recognized, his own Hedwig and an exhausted Pigwidgeon, but also a brown owl carrying a package wrapped in black material. He pulled the two letters from Pig's leg, seeing they were from Hermione and Ginny, before turning back to the small owl. "I suppose you don't want to be sent off again?" He hooted in response, looking pleadingly up at him. He turned to Hedwig.

"I hope you don't mind sharing a cage with him for the moment being." She gave Pig a disapproving look, reminding Harry strongly of how Hermione had glared at he and Ron when told they had been faking their Divination homework. With a sigh, he untied the two notes (from both Ginny and Hermione) before he turned to the unfamiliar owl.

Its eyes had a strangely empty look to them, giving the feeling he was staring at a possessed bird, and his eyes quickly turned to the black envelope tied to the package. In silver ink and curvy handwriting were the words To: Harry, From: Khalida. Assuming this was the same Khalida as from his dream, he untied the package and the owl took to the air, flying remarkably fast. The letter was written in the same curvy hand, reminding Harry slightly of Dumbledore's handwriting, and it was not very long.

(_To whom it may concern,_

_Consider this as an early birthday present. Inside is some protection for you and clothing that should fit you. Have a nice sixteenth birthday._

_Sincerely, _

_Khalida Thantos, Queen of Oblivion.)_

He imagined what a muggle might think if they ever got a chance to read the signature. He himself had a little trouble believing her as to be kind, but trusted his parent's judgment. If they could stay with her, then he could put a little trust in the shadowy being. Untying the ribbon (ribbon that looked to be made of the same fabric as an Invisibility Cloak) and prying open the wooden box beneath the velvet, he found his jade gaze lying on three guns ontop of scarlet material.

There was a rifle; the barrel polished deeply and carved into it was the symbol of a raven with outstretched wings. Next to it were two identical black handguns, polished similarly. Picking one up, he found it not to be heavy at all, the handle seeming molded to fit his hand perfectly. He had never touched an actual gun before. Dudley had certainly; the Dursleys had bought him one for his birthday a few years back. He'd been furious at the lack of bullets though, something Harry was eternally grateful for. The rifle's handle was of a similar state. Next to them were boxes of bullets. Laying them to the side, he unfolded the cloth they had been perched upon.

It was a long coat, tailored to fit him perfectly. At the very bottom of the back there was a small slit, turning either side into tails. It was made from a firm material, red as brandy, with a golden trim. He smiled slightly at the Gryffindor coloring. The edges of the coat flared out a little. A bit of black stuck out from the pocket and, grabbing it, discovered it was another note from Khalida.

(_This coat is bulletproof and will deflect most jinxes and hexes. May it come to use_)

Also inside were two pairs of jeans, both black in color, and three button down shirts (one red, two black), a new pair of boots and a strange sort of tri-cornered hat in colors of brandy red and golden yellow. At the bottom of the box was a rather large case for glasses. Actually, it was more like a visor then glasses, the lens tinted crimson and the wiry frame gold. Harry smiled slightly as he exchanged his current pair for those and dressed. A slight problem arose with his tail, which he simply shoved down his pants leg.

He had to admit, the clothing did look pretty good on him. The hat had forced his conical ears down on either side of his head, which gave the appearance of hair that twitched on occasions. His eyes glimmered strangely behind the glasses with an ethereal, animalistic sort of power, the tips of his elongated canines pressed against his bottom lip. All in all, he thought he looked more like some vampire then a muggle's version of a werewolf. Turning back to his desk and the three guns, his fingers curled around the barrel of one and took a close look at it.

He was not at all familiar with the mechanics of a gun, but he did have the generally idea of what did what. Putting them back inside the box they had come in (it appeared to have been magically expanded to fit all the belongings) which he then put in his trunk. His attention then went to Hermione's reply to his panicky note.

(_Harry,_

_Tell Dumbledore! I have absolutely no idea what could have happened to you, but my greatest guess is an incomplete Transfiguration spell. TELL DUMBLEDORE!_

_Hermione_)

Ginny's reply did not at all answer his question, but rather gave the same advice. He remembered Sirius telling him the same thing and scowled darkly at the paper clutched in his hand (in her rush, Hermione had used regular muggle computer paper). He would only go to Dumbledore at the last resort, which was rapidly coming closer and closer. With a sigh, he sat at his desk and began to write to his headmaster. He tried to take as long as he could possibly. He could imagine the response he'd receive and it would just be more cover-up lies and possibly a simple potion to restore his human form. He'd be told nothing, nothing at all. He glared darkly at his hands.

His palms had stopped bleeding and were coated in a thick layer of dried blood. The fang that had pierced them in the dream was siting innocently on his desk. The letter finished, he gave it a dark look before ushering Hedwig out of her cage. She looked smug at the possibility of delivering a letter and gave a look at Pig, who was asleep in the cage. "Take this to Dumbledore," he said, "Take as long as you want. There's no rush."

Her liquid amber eyes peered into his jade colored and she hooted gently before taking to the air outside. Harry leaned back in his desk chair, watching her white form grow smaller and smaller as she flew off into the horizon. There was little he could do today, with no homework (OWL results had yet to arrive, so he had no homework for the NEWT classes) and he certainly couldn't leave his bedroom with his new . . . appearance. He closed his eyes, intent on falling asleep again, but his ears twitched and he heard voices conversing as loudly as they would have been had he been in the same room.

"Petunia Dursley I presume?" said a female voice, a voice he knew only to well. His blood boiled and he stood at once, moving to his bedside table where his wand lay innocently. The slim holly wood felt good against his fingertips.

"Who are you?" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice was panicky and the opposite voice gave a bitter laugh.

"The last face you'll ever see. Avada Kadarva!"

Harry bared his teeth in a very canine fashion. Bellatrix Lestrange's cruel voice had ushered the words that had killed his aunt. His last blood relative was dead and, with a thrill of horror, knew he had no more divine protection from his mother. Moving swiftly to his trunk, he grabbed one of the handguns inside and ran out on the landing. In all her dark glory stood the only female Death Eater Harry had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. She wore no mask, her long raven hair spilling down her back with long bangs falling across her heavy-lidded eyes. Cracked lips the color of dried blood pulled back to reveal yellow teeth, her blue-black eyes glittering horrifically.

"My, my, little baby Potter, don't we look impressive," she said with a horrid whisper, kicking aside the lifeless cadaver of his aunt. "All dolled up in funeral clothing the color of blood. How . . . fitting." There was something different about her, something more confident and prideful lingering in her skull-like face and he tightened his grip on his wand.

"What's this?" asked Bellatrix, true surprise in her eyes but a mocking version on her face, "Do I spot fangs on the world's savior? Has he lost his mind and joined the darkness as a vampire?"

His temper burst and he pointed his wand at her. "Stupefy!"

"Protego," she said innocently, the red light bouncing innocently off and hitting the mirror by the door, which shattered into a million pieces. "Seven years of bad luck, Potter, too bad you won't live that long."

His index finger curled around the trigger of the gun. No, he'd wait to use it. He ducked her own curse and he clambered down the stairs. "Impedimenta!" Bellatrix flicked her wand and the spell bounced back at him. He dodged just in time and ground his teeth. Slipping the gun into the coat pocket, Harry fired as many spells he could, yet not a single one seemed to hit.

"Your weaker, Potter, no surprise! Come and get me, if you dare. Don't you want revenge for your precious godfather?" Her cruel laughter followed. "Crucio!"

He dodged and looked at his wand. What was wrong with him? Why wasn't his magic working? His eyes flickered to his longer nails. He'd have to work with what he had. Throwing aside his wand, Bellatrix laughed in triumph. "So you give up!"

"Not in your life," he said with a snort of dark laugher. He didn't at all sound like himself, but he had no time to puzzle over such trivial matters. He charged low at the woman and flung his leg up to kick her in the stomach. Her eyes widened, she had not seen him coming and the pain was immense. This was impossible! He looked like any unhealthy teenager, he couldn't possibly give that much damage to her . . .

One hand wrapped around her throat and she gagged. "Who's the weak one now?" he hissed in her ear but a curse to the face knocked her free. There was a nasty looking cut across his right temple, but the blood that poured down his face was a dark, brandy red, not at all the color of a human's blood. She hid her fear by casting another Cruciatas curse, one that hit him. His teeth were clutched tightly together, the tips of his fangs pressing into his lips so tightly that more blood was drawn.

"That's right, suffer, your suffering brings me power, Potter," she sneered but saw his eyes dilate with inhuman power. He flexed his hands and flung a leg up to her stomach again. When it made contact, she screeched in pain as she felt a rib or two break. He snarled and slashed her face with his long, claw-like nails.

"Such a pathetic woman," he sneered, sounding not at all like the small boy she had fought but four weeks ago and much more like some sort of horrific demon. His eyes were bright with malice and power "And this is the human Dark Lord's most trusted slave?" He tilted his head back, fangs catching the light and giving off a pearly light.

Bellatrix's own temper snapped and she grabbed her wand. "You. Will. PAY! AVADA KADAVRA!" The blast of green light, fueled by her fury, exploded against the wall behind Harry, for the young wizard had gracefully ducked and his foot slammed against her arm, which broke.

Bellatrix smirked as the flames began to engulf the house. "Your too late, Potter, none will survive this inferno, not even you."

"Then I suggest you leave," he said cruelly, pulling from his pocket a muggle gun, "Or you will be the first to perish."

With a crack, Bellatrix had apperated away. It was seconds before the bullet had smashed against the floor. Harry smirked and seemed to snap out of a daze, staring at the burning house. It felt as though he had been asleep for the past couple minutes, having a dream he could not remember. He frowned, ignoring the pounding in his head before, with a crash, the staircase collapsed.

He knew he had to get out of it, and fast. His eyes stared at Aunt Petunia's dead body and felt remorse stir in his chest. She had never liked him, he had never liked her, but she had been his last remaining family. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her out of the collapsing rubble as easily as one would drag a rag doll. Leaving her body on the front lawn, he stared at her for a moment before there was a blast of flames as the heat hit the kitchen and its gas stove. With some relief, he saw Pigwidgeon fly out of the window and off into the sky, fluttering like a gray tennis ball with wings.

Harry pulled his coat collar up and grabbed his mother's pendent. "Someone, please! Sirius, I-I don't know what to do. Privet Drive's gone and Aunt Petunia's dead. My wand's inside."

**Get the hell out of there! Go to Mrs. Figg's, fast! **

Her home was a good few blocks away and he ran as fast as he could, making sure his hat was in place for the reason it kept his ears down. The houses past in a blur but as he rounded a corner he felt a hand grip his arm sharply. Nearly falling down, he saw, in shock, that the would-be assailant was a dark haired woman with navy eyes. She wore clothing from at least a hundred years ago, looking like someone's grandmother, though she could only have been a few years older then himself. "Little boys shouldn't be wandering the streets," she said with a strangely seductive note in her voice, stretching her long fingers.

Fearing her to be another Death Eater, Harry flung his claws at the woman's arm, only to have the hand be griped by her empty hand. "My, my feisty one. I am no ally of Voldemort's, nor am I one of Dumbledore's. Call me a friend if you wish, call me a foe if you want. I simply offer you aid."

"Let go of me!" snapped Harry and gave a very canine yelp of horror when he saw the woman's teeth grow into fangs.

"My name is Makai, and I will get you away from this place, Harry Potter, looking as human as your birth." She reached inside his trouser pocket and slammed a small amulet he knew he had never had inside Harry's hand. It was engraved with runes of old, runes he could not read but was sure Hermione could decipher. As he griped it, he saw his nails shrink to their normal length with a gentle prickling.

"If this is on your person, it will keep you human." Her voice was low, a purr to it. She seemed in no hurry to convey her words.

"Why should I trust you?" he snapped. Makai gave a feral smile, eyes glimmering horribly and spoke in a quick voice, hardly pausing for breath.

"There are many things about me that you should not trust, and very few you should. I will be honest without, I did not think you to be much of anything and I have yet to change the idea. You are brave yet scared, confused yet understanding, traits revealing the turmoil of light and dark within us all. There is dark work afoot and many feel us to be evil creatures. I am not human, never was and never will be, and you are becoming less human with each passing moment. It is the will of the gods above, their wish that if you not be born a demon you become one."

Harry bore his teeth, still animalistic in look, and Makai continued, speaking faster still. "I will send you to London and you are to do whatever you wish. Worry not about any, for I am sure you will know how to defend yourself. After all, you have both inhuman power and a Daimon 09, nothing to worry for. Do not let shackles bind your feet and use the skill of the lycanthropes, the skill of the beserker, to its best. Beware the White Princess, she wants nothing but ill from you for what you are. Take care, we will meet again."

Harry squirmed in her grip. "Can you tell me what you, erm, we are?" Makai's eyes lit up in excitement; a horrid smile twisted her pointed face as her body began to shake. Her eyes twitched and then widened to the size of dinner plates. She threw back her head and laughed long and hard. It was the sort of laugh that could make Voldemort run and hide under a desk, the laugh of a mad genius. She let go of him and cupped her hands.

"We are greater then humans, Harry! We are born from darkness, born from the shadows and spirits of this world and the next! We are death, we are destruction, we are evil! Demons, youkai, whatever the name, we are what we are!" Her form began to morph, her navy eyes turning a brilliant metallic color, a mix of gold and silver colors, her dark hair turning platinum white from its roots. Her fingernails stretched into claw-like nails that rivaled his own and her teeth elongated further, the tips deadly sharp.

"I am Makai Mitsukai! I am the hell angel that my name suggests! You will remember me, Harry Potter, and perhaps some day we will meet on the field of battle, though as allies or enemies?" Her shoulders shook and she laughed again, sounding madder then ever. She curled her hands into a vague talon shape, palms up and trembling. "I DO NOT KNOW!"

He found himself being violently thrown forward but when he landed, it was not on the sidewalk of a Surrey suburb, but in a London alleyway. The muck that covered the concrete caught the hem of his coat as he stood and placed a hand in his pocket, feeling the cold metal of the gun. He was still holding the small amulet Mitsukai had thrust into his palm and pocketed it. What the hell was he supposed to do? The part of London he had arrived in was crowded mildly, though it was certainly nowhere near the Leaky Cauldron.

"I could use a little help about now," he snapped to nobody in particular, touching the lily pendent.

**God you get into more trouble then I ever did,** said Sirius with his bark-like laughter, **Where does Hermione live?**

"I dunno," he said, glaring darkly at the man who had given him a strange look, "She might live in Liverpool for all I know."

**Check a phone book. If you're lucky, she might live in London.**

There was a phone booth at the edge of the street. He hurried towards it, sidestepping a woman and frantically looked at the thick paperback book. The print was small and blurred, but as he ran a finger down a column in the 'G' section, he found three Grangers. Two lived in Kent, but one did live in London, at 14 Willow Avenue. Looking around for any change, he nearly skipped with joy when he found about a dollar's worth of cents under a hamburger wrapper. Shoving the money in, he punched in the number and listened as the tone rang.

"Be there, be there, be there," he hissed until a female voice picked up on the other line. "Hello, Granger residence, Hermione speaking."

"Hermione! It's Harry, listen," he said, quelling her excited shriek of his name, "I'm in London with no money. Bellatrix Lestrange just attacked Privet Drive and - "

"But your aunt and uncle lived in Surrey! How on earth did you get to London so fast?"

"I'll explain later!" he snapped, not wanting to go into exact detail about Makai Mitsukai over the phone. "I'm at the corner of," (he checked the street sign outside), "Lockwood Lane, near Carlton's Book Store. Any possible way you could come and get me?"

"I could ask my dad . . ."

"Great! Please Hermione, hurry."

"I'll be there as fast as I can." The line went dead. He slammed it back on the receiver and sat on the semi-empty bench by the street, waiting for Hermione. He did not know what her car was, or how she would recognize him. With a sigh, he looked at the other occupant of the bench. It was a girl, a year or two older then him, with black hair that was pin-poker straight, the tips and roots orange while her skin was near African-tan. She was dressed head to foot in very tight black clothing, odd for July, and listening to gothic music by use of the CD player on her lap. Her face was expressionless, except for her lips, which were mouthing the words to the song pounding ridiculously loud in her ears. He listened to the words for a while before she turned to him, the headphones peeled from her ears and a scowl on her face.

"What do you want?" she snapped testily. She had an American accent, a sharp one at that, like the no-nonsense tone of Professor McGonagall's.

"Nothing," he said quickly, turning away from her.

"Damn lycanthrope . . ." she muttered and he turned sharply back to her. "What?" he hissed through clenched teeth. She raised a dark eyebrow and sniggered. "Wolves really are stupid creatures and I guess half a wolf is still as stupid as a full one."

"I don't have a damn idea what you're talking about."

She turned to look at his face, more specifically, his scar. "Harry Potter, 'eh? Imagine that, the light's savior a dark demon." She snorted in laughter.

"What do you mean demon?" he said, as low as he could make his voice.

"You are a stupid one. Demon. Dark. Being," she said slowly, as if speaking to a mentally ill child who was about to burst into tears. She tossed back her braid. "Now, I didn't think your parents were demons. How'd you become one, sired by whom?"

"I've only been like this since this morning," he snapped through clenched teeth. She raised an eyebrow. "Testy. Very well. I am Samantha Chesterburn, cat demon." That explained her attitude. "I pose as a witch, age nineteen." She didn't bother lowering her voice at all, which surprised him. "You have interesting clothing, especially your glasses. That cut on your temple looks very fetching as well."

He touched the temple she had pointed at, pulling the fingers sharply back when he felt a sting there. His fingertips were coated in blood that was a deep, dark red, not at all natural for a human being. Chesterburn gave a smile that could rival the Chershire cat's. "I always love to see a kitten play with its new claws. It brings me such joy."

"Is there a sort of community for people like us?" he asked quietly. She raised an eyebrow.

"A walnut farm, you mean? I'm afraid not, little puppy," (her smile widened as his scowl deepened), "There are sets of us. The mau, my people, live in Egypt and eastern Africa, though yours dwell in the confines of North American cities like caged beasts. I'm here to watch the fun brew, though." He didn't like her smile.

"Fun?" he asked, staring at her with a raised eyebrow. She tossed back her hair and gave a bitter laugh he didn't like. It reminded him of Mitsukai's.

"Why, with the Dark Lord back and demons pulling the strings behind it all, we'll gain all the spoils, won't we? The die have been rolled and the world waits to see what will come up." From the back pocket of her jeans she pulled a small business card. He snatched it and read the curly indigo type.

(_Chasers of Beyond. Store of the arcane arts. Located at 666 Diagon Alley_.)

It was interesting that the store was located there, of all places. He looked up at Chesterburn. "It's run by a friend of mine, Raul Winters, who is as stupid as you are, the taint of canine blood must dim your intelligence." She turned on her headphones and ignored all his attempts at conversation.

He scowled. What did she mean by fun when the Dark Lord comes back? He stared at the business card. It sounded interesting enough. He pocketed it, his fingers slipping on the cold metal of the gun. He shivered for a moment before a high voice he recognized cried out his name. Turning sharply, he saw Hermione pushing through the crowds. Clad in baggy jeans and a pink windbreaker pulled over an emerald T-shirt, she flung her arms around his neck. He heard Chesterburn snigger.

"What happened to you?" she asked, staring at his soot covered clothing and bleeding cut, "Why is your blood that dark?"

"Not here, okay?" he hissed quietly, "I'll explain everything later, okay? I promise." She noted the seriousness in his tone and nodded. "My dad drove me, he's right over here." Hermione grip was outrageously tight on his fingers when she lead him to a black Sabb, a middle-aged man in the front seat. He looked at them from behind almond shaped glasses. Hermione had inherited his face shape and intelligent, proud eyes.

"What on Earth happened to you?" he asked to Harry, looking at the blood on his cheek and the ash discoloring his coat and shirt.

"Fire," he said simply. Hermione forced a smile. "Dad, this is Harry. Harry, this is my father."

Mr. Granger shook Harry's hand. "Yes, Hermione's told us so much about you. I must thank you, for saving her life so many times." A faint blush entered Harry's cheeks and Hermione smiled as she took the passanger's seat. Harry sat next to the young girl in the back seat, one who had barely acknowledged his presence. She was about ten or eleven with very straight dark brown hair that fell to her chin and light brown eyes that had a dulled tone to the edges. She wore very neat clothing, the skirt crisp and tidy, the short-sleeved shirt under the gray sweater vest looking as though it was made of plastic. It was a school uniform, which was odd for the summer holidays.

"Harry, this is my younger sister, Amelia." Amelia turned and gave a jerky nod to him before turning swiftly away. She was about as social as Snape. Mr. Granger spent the car ride to Hermione's house in silence, apparently sensing the tension between the two teens.

14 Willow Avenue was a fairly large home, but quaint. The flowerbeds out front were untidy and the oak tree in the front was gnarled and in need of pruning. Amelia slammed open the door and walked silently up the stairs, slamming the door behind her. Hermione was quiet until they entered a room on the second story, one that made Harry's jaw drop.

It was medium sized, the walls painted peach, a canopy bed neatly folded in the corner next to a desk covered in parchment and quills. Her trunk was at the foot of the bed, Crookshanks curled on the smooth surface of the trunk. But what caught his attention were all the books. Three walls were filled with bookshelves containing both subject matter of the magical and muggle world. Most of the shelves were filled, though on the west wall there was space for more.

"Why does this surprise me?" he asked to Hermione, but her brown eyes were narrowed.

"Tell me what happened. All of it. You promised."

And so he did, beginning with his dream the night before. She held onto every word, especially about the demon Makai Mitsukai.

"Can I see the amulet she gave you?"

He paused for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and taking it out. The minute it left his hands, he saw the fingernails grow out and Hermione gave a small scream. "Quiet!" he hissed, ears twitching. Her shriek had seemed louder then normal for a human's, or was it that his hearing had improved?

"Good lord," she hissed, eyes still horribly wide. All the color had fled from her skin, "Do you mind if I . . .?"

He blinked. "Mind what?" She gave an impatience tut and ran fingers across the silky fur of his ears. They twitched and a startled look entered her eyes.

"You did owl Dumbledore?"

"Right before Bellatrix attacked, yeah."

Hermione sighed and ran fingers through her bushy hair. "This is making my head hurt so much . . . I don't know, Harry, I just don't know."

It was the first time he had ever heard her usher those words.

**Hogwarts Castle**

Professor Sybill Trelawney had never been held in high esteem with the rest of her staff members. They had treated her with better respect then years before, after Umbridge fired her. Currently the overdressed Divination professor was eating lunch in the Great Hall, a very rare occasion in itself, seated next to Shirahime Shirogane. The albino was eating a bowl of plain tofu, her red eyes lingering on each of the staff members, apparently examining them. A vein was twitching in McGonagall's temple as Shirogane's eyes lingered on her.

However, all eyes flickered away when Trelawney's cup of tea fell to the floor with a smash. The seer's eyes were misted, her tongue lolling from her pale lips. Flitwick turned his attention to her, even Shirogane's attention had shifted from the chopsticks positioned midway from her mouth.

"Sybill?" he asked nervously.

She did not answer but began to speak in a deep voice that certainly didn't suit her, or a woman of her age for that matter.

"_The sun sets as the soldiers ride to battle_

_The glow of the moon will turn red_

_Blood, blood for the kin of the king_

_The humans have fought their battles_

_Battles they deserved for the mistreatment of their own_

_One destined for the darkness defeated his own_

_And arrogant silence echoed throughout_

_A decade and three, these long summers passed_

_But all is not gone_

_All is not lost_

_For He still thrives_

_Thrives for the host to grant him the power_

_Power, never to be held in his life_

_Beware the rat, for the cat failed to come_

_The light born ones ignored the gypsy's warning_

_And evil they knew arose once again_

_Soon the sun will shine, but the light shan't come through_

_The sun will turn black, black as the shadows_

_Blood, blood for the queen of the damned_

_The true masters of the world control the lord_

_By webs of deceit and puppet strings of the living_

_The fire-winged king will manipulate all_

_And the sobbing reality twister will laugh and soak in the glory_

_Glory, long since passed away_

_She wants death_

_She wants revenge_

_Revenge on the White Princess's seventh born daughter_

_Lucky seven, unlucky seven, who knows the truth?_

_Ichor will stain the pale_

_The stars will cry for a crippled man_

_Six should be_

_Three born at the beginning_

_Three born at the end_

_A hero in a wolf-man's body, not knowing what he wants_

_A messenger of death with charcoal hair and an inferno temper_

_Sired by the king, the son of the devil, the genius behind them all_

_The playful vixen, sister to the reaper_

_Born from moonlight, a fledgling dragon_

_Riddle-born fire, taken from evil, tainted pure_

_As the wolf and the human murder the snake_

_Merged with one to form true power_

_Power of the beserker of the Earth_

_Yet there is no silence after the battlefield clears_

_Darkness will cover the light_

_And shadows will obscure the moon and sun_

_Bringing forth the eclipse prolonging the Apocalypse_

_All will tremble before the might of the Fallen Angels,_

_Catastrophe and Calamity,_

_And the dead will wander the Earth that has become hell for all_

_Those with souls will plead for mercy_

_As heroes die in the arms of their beloved_

_None can escape_

_None can survive_

_Their hope lies in the redemption of a child_

_With the sword of Truth."_

Trelawney's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she curled in a graceful arc to the floor. The hall rang with silence after her prophecy before McGonagall stood to run to the Headmaster. Only Shirogane's voice broke through the still silence.

"Could you pass the pumpkin juice?"

_**End Chapter Three: Escape**_


	4. The Price of Power

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

_**Chapter Four: The Price for Power**_

**_Invasion from Within_**  
_**Singer  
**__**Tsunami Bomb**_

_Enemy inside of me _

I'm caught

_I cannot kick them out  
Their claws are wrapped around my throat _

_And they are squeezing tighter  
Insanity is coming over me  
Their every wish is my command  
No way out  
_

_I feed them, you will too  
They're gonna take control of you  
You'll know when they have got you trapped  
Everything looks cloudy _

_And you feel like you're on fire  
Inhabited, I wish that I were dead  
My blood has turned from red to black  
No way out  
_

_When they come for you,  
They see right through your flesh and bones _

_For soon you'll be their home  
They know you deep inside, _

_The things you can't try to hide  
No hope after the first bite  
_

_Look out 'cause they are onto you  
They'll cut you open, _

_Crawl inside _

_And you'll be lost forever  
Don't try to run 'cause you're the chosen one  
Your world is gone, no turning back  
No way out_

**4 Privet Drive**

It had taken a long time for the muggles to leave the scene of the crime, which was long after the firemen and police squad come. Petunia Dursley had been taken to the corner office and Nymphadora Tonks, posing as a family friend who had just come by, was told that her husband and son had been found dead as well. Vernon Dursley had been killed in a car accident and Dudley Dursley had committed suicide after an overdose of both alcohol and ecstasy. All of Harry Potter's relatives were dead.

Remus Lupin looked at the burnt rubble that had once been Harry Potter's shelter. There was still smoke curling into the blue summer sky and a heavy feel of horror still lingering around the debris. Tonks and Kinglsey had been interviewing every member of the Surrey suburb, asking (begging and pleading were better words for their actions) for knowledge of the boy's whereabouts. He was not at the ruined home of his immediate family, nor was he anywhere near Privet Drive or Magnolia Crescent.

Levitating aside the ruined wood and furniture, a very familiar shape appeared. It was Harry's trunk, the leather binding scratched and scared, but in one shape. He wasn't surprised, magical trunks were impervious to most damages, fire included. Tapping his wand on the top, he spoke a shrinking charm and slipped the now small object in the inside pocket of his robes.

With a crack, Tonks had apperated behind him, looking pained. Her navy hair was in tight ringlets today, her bottle green eyes wide and scared. "Remus, I just got back from Arabella's house. She says she saw a boy in red run from the house. She only caught a glimpse of the face, but she thinks it may have been Harry."

A rush of warm relief swept through him, making him slightly dizzy. At least Harry was alive and out of Voldemort's clutches. Tonks ran a hand through her curly hair. "I don't get it, he was suppose to be protected by that ward, you know?" she said, tripping over the charred remains of the kitchen table.

"Yes, that's what I thought. Did Mrs. Figg see where Harry was going?"

Tonks's brow furrowed and she ran her hands through her hair with a sigh. "Here's where it gets VERY strange. Arabella says she saw him at the corner of her street, then a woman grabbed him and they just seemed to disappear into thin air! She didn't catch a good glimpse of the woman, but she said she had dark hair and a gothic appearance."

Remus's fear returned in instants, constricting his breathing for a moment as he heard her words. "Probably a Death Eater. We've got to talk to Dumbledore, fast. This investigation's getting no where quickly."

Tonks bounced on the balls of her feet. "Do ya think he's in you-know-where? Or Hogwarts?" Remus shrugged. "Number 12, probably."

With a crack, both the witch and wizard vanished, only to reappear seconds later in Grimmauld Place. It had taken on an almost livable condition since last Christmas; Mrs. Weasley was to thank for it all. Poor Molly was running around like a headless chicken, fretting about every little detail. It had taken both a lot of convincing and a Sleeping Potion to get the woman to relax.

Dumbledore was in the basement kitchen, talking very quickly to a nervous looking Minerva McGonagall and an agitated Severus Snape. Both professors turned to the new arrivals. Dumbledore folded the letter in his aged hands and looked at the werewolf so calmly it was both aggravating and scary.

"Did you find anything?"

"His school trunk and wand," said Remus, placing both objects on the kitchen table, "And some information."

McGonagall raised a dark eyebrow. "Well, what information?"

"Arabella said she saw Harry and a dark-haired woman near her house before they vanished into thin air," said Tonks quickly, not wanting to spite the strict woman into anger.

'That was the last thing anyone wanted, thought Remus with a mental smile, remembering an interesting scene from his sixth year involving an angry McGonagall, a cat and Sirius . . .

"What did the woman look like?" asked McGonagall quickly. Tonks raised a blue eyebrow. "She didn't get a good glimpse."

"I have rather troubling news from both Harry and Miss. Weasley," said Dumbledore, handing the folded parchment to Remus. It was a letter, written in Harry's hand, but sentences jumped out at him.

_( . . . Had a dream with my parents and Sirius and a woman . . . Woke up some sort of half-dog . . . Got a tail and fangs . . . Hermione says transfiguration spell . . .)_

"What on Earth does this mean?" asked Remus, trying and failing to keep a calm note in his voice.

"It means Potter's gotten in over his head again," snapped Snape, "I am, however, more concerned as to why I wasn't informed of this attack. If the Dark Lord has found a way by Potter's shields, then he would have gloated about it to many of his Death Eaters."

"Not necessarily," said Dumbledore. A vein twitched in Snape's temple for a moment, though his voice was as cold as his norm, "He was ecstatic about his meeting with Aiden Shamshair, he would certainly have made it known if he could kill Potter."

"Who's Aiden Shamshair?" asked Tonks innocently and quietly, trying not to incite the Slytherine's famed temper. Snape's black eyes turned to the auror and seemed to pierce through her soul.

"You are not at liberty to know such information," he said quickly, his eyes narrowing. Tonks muttered under her breath, mentioning the words 'arrogant git.' Remus barely stopped a smile from flickering across his face.

"I've sent Fawkes to look for Harry. It shouldn't be too long before he finds the boy." As if on cue, there was a flash of brandy and golden flames above the kitchen table and a note fluttered down. At a glance, he couldn't recognize the handwriting, but there was something strange about it. Snape caught it in midair and read it quickly.

"It's from a Kairai Okami," he said coolly, "And it's a . . . poem."

Dumbledore took the parchment and read it quickly. "Interesting, yet . . . Remus, you might want to read this."

The werewolf took the writing and his eyes immediately went to the end of the scripture. It was signed with Japanese kanji, but below that was English. The silver-blue ink shone painful against the white of the parchment. Kairai Okami signed her name large and curly, the ink that composed her signature was dark violet unlike the other silver-blue, and below that was the words 'Madame of the Marionettes.' Feeling disturbed, he read the poem.

(_When the darkness falls_

_And the orb of Tsaki-Yami rises_

_The Dark Empress's human puppets_

_Will wither and turn to their primitive ways_

_Women wail as their husbands kill_

_And when the Sun Queen's eye opens_

_The men will see their sins_

'_Tis a sad fate to be met by any_

_Yet the cure for the Moonchildren is not_

_As demons bring forth the sanctuary_

_Red with black, merged with the bane of the wolf_

_This will end Selene's line of children on Earth_

_Bringing forth Athar's children from the beast_

_Sleep ends all, death awakens all to truth_

_When the black of the star is gone from this world_

_The hero of the secrets will sob and cry_

_Waiting for the Immortal Death to heal his wounded soul_

_Then, then the pure Moon-son will emerge_

_And help the Wolf Demon,_

_Kin of the Hunted Hunter and Flower Girl_

_Oh, how has the light has crumbled?)_

Remus's blood went cold as he re-read the poem several times. He knew enough about literary devises from his mother's book of poetry to understand the meaning behind the cruel wording. As he stared at the words, he recognized the so-called 'silver ink.'

"It's written in liquid Wolfsbane."

"Glad you noticed Lupin," said Snape sourly and Remus narrowed his own pale eyes towards the black-clad man.

"Severus, is there a Death Eater who goes by the name of Kairai Okami?" asked Dumbledore.

Snape shook his head quickly and his voice held a slight sense of uncertainty. "There are no Asian Death Eaters, headmaster, China and Japan are busy with a dark sorceress of their own to intervene with the Dark Lord."

"Well," said McGonagall, "We're going to have to track down this poet. She certainly knows where Harry is, and I am curious to what she means about these Moonchildren."

'A little too well,' thought Remus, 'The wolf-demon, kin to James and Lily. God help him . . .'

**Letum Castle, Transylvania, Romania**

Peter Pettigrew was pleased to note that he was not the only one who did not enjoy the Dark Lord's new headquarters. The cathedral-like castle was horrible, as were its occupants, realized Wormtail with a squirm of discomfort. He was waiting in the castle's largest dungeon, where one Aiden Shamshair had requested to come. Lord Voldemort was in a rare moment of malicious happiness; his lipless mouth curled into a snarl of a smile, revealing his white teeth that had been filed to dagger tips.

Shamshair had stayed the majority of the day, vanishing only once and returning shortly afterwards. He had brought a guest back, a pretty woman with perfectly straight raven hair and cold eyes of an unusual lavender color. He had dubbed the woman Dagian Faren, his wife of a hundred years. It was very disturbing, considering neither looked a day over thirty. She was a vindictive woman, quite the temptress and easily wooing half the male Death Eaters in seconds. It was she who had brought them and given them this castle, which had once been the home of a very influential vampire named Lucifer Letum. Fitting owner for such a place.

The décor of the castle was all emerald green and black, any metal work done in silver of platinum. It was as Slytherin as Salazar's heir, the tapestries and magical portraits depicting gruesome battles and deaths. There was an icy silence to the air, one with an aura of magic that could have rivaled Durmstrang and Beauxbaton. Dust littered every article of furniture in the building, cobwebs and the like hanging from the wooden rafters and glass chandeliers. Amongst the halls where one would see armor were marble sculptures, all of a woman who, as they were told, was the bride of Letum, Lurlina. She was stunning, or at least the sculpture depicted her so. The dungeons were as warm and welcoming as a cell in Azkaban, guarded by a dozen dementors. It was within these dungeons that many a Death Eater stood around their lord, waiting for the arrival of the demon king.

He had left earlier along with his wife, promising to return with a precious gift. If Voldemort assembled in the dungeons with his inner circle, he would return shortly. True to the demon's word, Shamshair materialized from the shadows. Instead of his usual grab from the 1700's, he wore red armor, edged with designs depicting emerald and cerulean flames. It was an odd design, just as odd as the large and flat wooden box in his arms. There was an odd smile on his face, his trademark top hat still in place. He inclined his head in the smallest of bows.

"I bring you a treat, Lord Voldemort," said Shamshair quietly, "A very, very rare treat, just like I promised."

His red eyes hungered for the power. Bellatrix's dark gray eyes were equally driven by that mad power. Her defeat by Harry Potter had been a horrid loss; she had been punished disgusted for it. Her face was still disfigured by long claw marks, looking as though her attack had been by a large wolf rather then a sixteen year old boy. Shamshair opened his box, revealing seven crystal vials. Each was filled to the brim with a black liquid; each topped with a jewel of different colors.

"Some sort of potion, Shamshair?" asked Voldemort deadly quiet, "I have my own potions master to brew things."

"Does your potions master possess demon blood? Blood of six of the seven breeds?" asked Shamshair softly.

Voldemort, had he possessed a nose, would have raised it. "I don't understand, demon, why would I need blood?"

There was a malicious smile spread wide across the dragoon's face, his eyes flickering back and forth from reflective yellow to cold blue. "On a change of conversation, one of your prized Death Eaters failed to apprehend Harry Potter this morning, correct?" Bellatrix's hand flew to her wand, her face livid, but a casual wave of Voldemort's hand silenced her.

"What of it?"

"Harry Potter will no longer be human on the morn of his sixteenth birthday. I can do the same for your Death Eaters. I can make them demons."

A thrill of horror rushed through Wormtail and he whimpered. Bellatrix gave him a disgusted glare and Goyle slammed his enormous foot onto Wormtail's. It hurt. A lot. Voldemort looked ecstatic beyond words, his face lit with a madman's horrid smile. Shamshair picked one of the vials and set the box down upon one of the small tables that littered the room.

"With your permission, milord, bring forth Draco Malfoy."

Lucius's son had been a Death Eater since the beginning of July. Three days later there had been the Azkaban breakout, though the wizarding public knew not of this. Muggles had replaced the Death Eaters and had died within days. Everyone thought that they were dead. His father went to fetch the boy: the Malfoys had been staying in a room of the castle as their mansion was under Ministry inspection.

There were a few minutes of silence and stillness as the blonde boy was fetched. When both returned, Draco was shoved painfully forward, his jaw clamped tightly shut and feigning a look of immense pride. Shamshair knew otherwise and uncorked the vial. The bloodstone topper was cast aside and a slight sense of sulfur filled the room's air.

"My wife has brewed this potion, and let's just say there are more dragoons amongst Carpathia's legion." His cruel smile stretched as he shoved the vial between Draco's lips. His cold gray eyes closed in preparation for pain, and Shamshair jerked away from him. There was a moment as the potion surged through his body, entering his bloodstream, then his body began to shake as though he were having a seizure.

A dragon's screech came from the boy's mouth as two black wings ripped through his black robe. There was covered in slick, leathery skin and blood as dark as the skin. His hands curled into claws, the fingernails growing several inches and turning to ivory. His pale skin dried and turned to black scales. His teeth grew into pointed fangs, the eyes slanting and mouth and nose merged to form a muzzle.

Shamshair watched the transformation with apathetic eyes and, when it was complete, a very draconian human collapsed to the ground, exhausted. He placed one foot on the body. "What you see here is one of the many forms of a dragoon," he said, his tone lecture-like, "Young master Malfoy will be like this for a few hours, then assume his human body. I will tell him how to control his power. As you all can see, all traces of humanity are lost from the boy."

Voldemort's lipless mouth was in a dark smile, his eyes alight with cruel amusement and merriment. "Shamshair, you are a genius," whispered the Dark Lord, "Will your forces be joining mine at any time?" His Death Eaters were frozen silent. Only one thought was running through their heads and it scared them to death.

They would soon lose their humanity.

Wormtail gave a shuddering look to his fellows. Lucius Malfoy was looking at his son in horror, true traces of parental instinct in the gray eyes behind the mask. Rookwood gave a violent shudder, Macnair tense, almost petrified, and even cruel, apathetic Bellatrix looked as though she was about to cry. After all, it was her nephew that had withered on the floor, suffering the most horrid of fates to wish upon a man.

Suddenly, it seemed the Death Eaters of Lord Voldemort were as human as the people they murdered, filled with human emotions of fear and terror. For the first time in God knows how long, they were wishing that they were with Dumbledore rather then this madman.

**12 Willow Avenue**

The Grangers were like the Weasleys; Harry had come to discover, except muggle and smaller in number. Mrs. Granger, a thin woman with Hermione's bushy hair in a shade of rust red, had treated him like a son, bustling on about the heroic tales the witch had told them, much like Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Granger was kind and calming, as well as inquisitive like Mr. Weasley and Amelia was like Ginny in her first year: shy and secretive. Currently he was in the kitchen helping Hermione with dinner, something that Mrs. Granger had failed to talk him out of. It gave him a few moments to talk with Hermione in private.

"I wonder why the Order haven't shown up yet," said Harry as Hermione's eyes flickered to the oven where a pot of spaghetti noodles were boiling merrily.

"Well, you did get from Surrey to London in only a few seconds. It's either that, or . . ." She pursed her lips, looking worried.

"They think Death Eaters have me, that's what you think, isn't it?"

"Look at the facts, Harry," she said in her usual tone. "Your house burns down. You're nowhere near by. Your aunt was killed by Avada Kedarva. It makes sense. Either that or you killed her - "

"I liked it better when you weren't joking," he said coldly, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

"Watch that's what Fudge prints on the Daily Prophet. God knows he printed enough of the crap last year." She pushed back a few strands of her hair. "Have you been reading the Prophet lately Harry?"

He shook his head. "I stopped the subscription after they put up the poll of renaming Halloween 'Harry Potter Day.'"

"Well," she said uneasily, "They said that the Death Eaters from the Department of Mysteries, you know," her voice lowered, "Lucius Malfoy and . . . and Bellatrix, Fudge said their bodies were found dead in Azkaban. Suicides, everyone of them."

He raised an eyebrow. "And her ghost attacked me? Oh yes, I can imagine the headline now. 'Potter claims dead woman killed aunt. He's now a psycho again. Hide in the barracks.'" He gave a bitter laugh, "It's Rita Skeeter all over again."

"That's not funny!" snapped Hermione, "I'm serious! I have the whole article upstairs if you want to read it."

He leaned against the kitchen counter, looking out the sliding glass door. "They're not going to believe me Hermione. Like Rita said, the prophet prints what the public wants. They don't want to be told Voldemort's deadliest supporters are still alive and managed to kill my aunt and uncle."

"I know," she said softly, turning to the pot and ladling it over to the sink, "But damn it, you know what their doing now? You know who they set up for our Defense professor this year?"

A thrill of horror entered his system. He hadn't thought about the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and he wished with every fiber of his being that is wasn't Umbridge again or anything remotely like her. "Do I want to know?" he asked slowly. Hermione bit her lip before speaking.

"It's this Japanese auror, Shirahime Shirogane. Perfect little woman to, result of the richest prime of Japanese breeding and without a single spot on her record. Fudge imported her, since he's still got every decree in place!" She breathed angrily, clutching her hands into fists.

"You're joking! It's going to be Umbridge all over again," he moaned, feeling lightheaded for a minute, "Damn it!"

"No," she said, cursing as she burnt her hand on the metal of the pot. He took the strainer as she continued pouring the water and noodles in. "She's a genius. She's quoted in an article, speaking as though she were the queen of England. She's going to teach us combat, actually medieval weaponry and everything!" Hermione took a deep breath before continuing. "From what the Prophet says, her mum's family descended from this famous samurai and her dad's were all aurors and . . . and bounty hunters."

He raised an eyebrow. "Bounty hunter?"

"People who hunt dark creatures!" Hermione's voice had its bossy quality, along with the egotistical insert that she used when she wanted to prove she knew more then him. "Werewolves, vampires, oni, any part-human creature's fair game."

"This won't end well for me. And what's an oni?"

"Keep that talisman on and you'll be fine." She didn't answer his second question until the noodles were in the serving bowl. "Oni are Japanese demons. Humans with claws, teeth and two horns. Their about as social as vampires and they control elements, like earth, fire, wind, etc. But not a single one's ever been seen out of Japan before and their small population is being hunted by bounty hunters. They have rather poor temper handling skill."

He was immediately reminded of Ron. Speaking of Ron . . . "What's up with Ron? Ginny said something happened with him."

"I completely forgot! Ron's got wings, black ones, but wings. He looks different to, shorter and his hair's streaked black."

Harry let the new information sink in, chewing his tongue. It had been an extremely eventful day, one he had no desire to ever repeat. His dream, his bizarre transformation, Bellatrix's attack, Makai Mitsukai, Samantha Chesterburn and now all this information . . .

'God damn me if I ever have a normal life,' he cursed as Amelia entered the kitchen. She looked as stony as ever but finally spoke. Her voice was soft, one of those whispering voice that you had to strain your ears to hear. However, he heard her perfectly clear. There was something held behind her back.

"Hermione? An owl just came with your paper."

That was interesting, as well as bad. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "But the Prophet came this morning." Amelia cleared her throat and held out the folded sheet of newsprint that had been held behind her back.

In thick black lettering was the headline story.

_(HARRY POTTER – SAVIOR OR MURDERER?)_

_**End Chapter Four: The Price for Power**_


	5. Shards of the Puzzle Pieces

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

**_Chapter Five: Shards of Puzzle Pieces_**

_**We Are  
**__**Singer  
**__**Ana Johnsson**_

_See the devil on the doorstep now. My, oh my.  
Telling everybody, oh, just how to live their lives.  
Sliding down the information highway,  
Buying them just like a bunch of fools.  
Time is tickin' and we can't go back. My, oh my. _

What about the world today?  
What about the place that we call home?  
We've never been so many,  
And we've never been . . .so alone.

You keep watching from your picket fence,  
You keep talking but it makes no sense.  
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are.  
You wash your hands, you come out clean,  
But you fail to recognize, the enemy is within.  
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are.  
We are.

One step forward making two steps back. My, oh my.  
Buying pity on the bad boy's back for life.  
Lining up for the grand illusion.  
No answers for no questions asked,  
Lining up for the execution, without knowing why...

You keep watching from your picket fence,  
You keep talking but it makes no sense.  
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are.  
You wash your hands, you come out clean,  
But you fail to recognize, the enemy is within.  
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are.  
We are.

It's all about power, by taking control,  
Breaking the will, erasing the soul.  
They suck us dry till there's nothing left.  
My, oh my. My, oh my.

What about the world today?  
What about the place that we call home?  
We've never been so many,  
But we've never been . . .So alone.

So alone.

You keep watching from your picket fence,  
You keep talking but it makes no sense.  
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are.  
You wash your hands, you come out clean,  
But you fail to recognize, the enemy is within.  
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are.  
We are.

We are, we are, we are.

**12 Grimmauld Place**

Interrogations for three hours by a paranoid ex-auror to a sleepy teenager never went well. Especially when that ex-auror was Alastor Moody and that sleepy teenager was Ron Weasley. Mrs. Weasley had taken a visit to her youngest children, only to find the winged version of her son. He'd been stunned and re-awoken in the basement kitchen of Headquarters. That had been somewhere around two in the afternoon and it was going on five PM. Moody's questions were bringing them both no where and only bringing Ron's fiery temper out. All he was really waiting for was Professor Snape to come back from the Death Eater meeting, bringing within him both knowledge and Veritaserum to force the truth out with.

"Who are you and what are you?" growled Moody for the umpteenth time. Ron sighed angrily, his hands gripped very tightly to either side of the chair. In fact, his hold was so tight that chunks of wood had started to break loose.

"I told you a thousand times! Ron Weasley and I don't know what the bloody hell I am!"

The kitchen doors opened, revealing a haggard looking Remus Lupin, his hands holding onto a copy of the Daily Prophet, leading none other then Ron's potions professor. It was the first time Ron had ever seen Snape look scared. The man's already pallid skin was devoid of any blood, his eyes wide and frightened, one twitching slightly, his mouth agape. He took no notice of Ron or Moody and went straight to a chair, where he collapsed upon it. He was muttering to himself, sounding utterly mad, but the words escaped Ron. He doubted very much if he wanted to know what was going on.

"What's wrong with you, Snape?" grunted Moody, his magical eyeball still on Ron, though his normal one was upon the Hogwarts Potions Master. Both of the teen's blue irises were fixed upon Snape, whose hands pressed against his brow, staring wide-eyed and terrified at the table.

Remus took several breaths before speaking, and even then his words were stammered. "Voldemort," (Ron winced at the name), "He's . . . this ally of his, this Aiden Shamshair . . . he's got some potion, it turns people into demons."

Ron's jaw dropped and Moody's electrically colored eye turned sharply to the werewolf. "_What_!" he yelled, the first time Ron had ever heard the auror sound shocked, even scared.

"Where's Dumbledore?" snapped Remus, "Hogwarts or here?"

"Looking for Potter," said Moody crossly, "Still haven't found him."

"What's wrong with Harry?" asked Ron suddenly, standing up. His chair fell backwards, his wings twitching in concern for his friend. His ex-professors turned to him. Remus's own eyes widened. "Ron? Ron Weasley?"

"Professor, what's wrong with Harry? Why are people looking for him?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding frantic.

"This character claims to be Weasley," said Moody darkly, his eye flicking back to Ron, lingering on the Gryffindor's face as if trying to pry into his soul. How much the boy hated that eye could never have been expressed in words, especially words that weren't curses. "He's given no proof, and certainly doesn't look like Molly's son."

"I've heard stranger today," said Remus and his face took on a furious expression. A dark and almost mad look entered the normally peaceful blue gaze of the werewolf. He curled and uncurled the Daily Prophet in his hands. "Read this!" He slammed the paper into Moody's hands, breathing heavily. The auror glared but read. It didn't take more then a few minutes before his normal eye looked back at Remus.

"Damn Fudge and his lapdogs!" He threw the paper onto the table, "This is the last thing we need!"

Ron looked at the paper, his eyes narrowing to cold slits at the headline. It was worse the reading the dung Percy wrote. Much, much worse.

_(HARRY POTTER – SAVIOR OR MURDERER?_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Earlier today, the home of Harry Potter, hero and savior of the present wizarding Britain, and his muggle relatives was found in smoking rubble by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Examination of the debris proved to be the after effects of a misaimed Avada Kedarva curse, the curse that gave our precious Boy-Who-Lived his famous scar. The body of his aunt, Petunia Dursely, sister to the late Lily Potter, was found by muggles and a healer's later analysis proves this death to be caused of the same spell work. Potter's other two relatives, an uncle and cousin, also died earlier today. His uncle, Mr. Vernon Dursley's car (a sort of muggle transportation) crashed, killing him instantly. Upon further inspection it was revealed that the car's steering capabilities were altered using magic. His cousin, Dudley Dursley, was killed on an overdose of muggle drugs and alcohol. To add to the suspicion, Potter was found no where near the scene of the attack, his school trunk and wand gone as well._

_Some are saying that our society's 'Golden Boy' may have been the murderer to at least two of these tragedies. One Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister, has this to say on the culprit of the murders. 'We can only hope that our hero has not lost his mind,' began Weasley gravely, 'However, a close friend of his died very recently, though I will withhold any names. It is, sadly, possible that this death may have unhinged Harry Potter, and it's very common knowledge that he was not at all on good terms with his muggle relatives. Perhaps he just went too far.'_

_Top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital say that Weasley brings up a fair argument. Deaths to close friends and family members have been one of the main causes for suicides and murders in the years following and including You-Know-Who's first rise to power. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, agrees and a reward has been set on Potter's capture and return to the Ministry, until such a time comes for him to testify under the Wizengamot, as well as under the influence of Veritaserum. Until then, the reward stands at two hundred fifty galleons for Potter's capture and return to the Ministry. Professor Albus Dumbledore, who has always been a strong voice in the boy's defense, was unavailable for comment.)_

Ron felt numb for a moment, staring in horror at the article that bitch had written and printed. Mingled within his blind anger was sadness for his friend. Harry had no more family left in the world . . .

The Weasleys were the largest wizarding family in Britain. He knew he had a string of cousins and more distant relatives going from Aberdeen to Plymouth with even some family in America's eastern coast. He had grown up with six older brothers and one younger sister, as well as both parents. But Harry, Harry had grown up with only three members of family, all of whom hated him, and they had all died in one day. He could never have imagined what it must feel like to be that alone in the world.

What jerked him out of his depressing stupor was Remus's yell and Snape's sharp curses. The paper on the table had just burst into flames, flames as black as the feathers that lined Ron's wings. What was stranger about the fire was the fact it gave no warmth, but rather destroyed it. It was as cold as ice in winter and refused all attempts to be distinguished by three wizard's spells. It did not burn anything else and finally died when the newspaper had been reduced to smoldering ashes the color of iron.

There was silence for a moment or two in which he felt three pairs of eyes flicker and examine his sad face before Moody snapped to Snape. "Do you have Veritaserum on you?"

Snape reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small corked vial. He stared at it for a long time before placing it on the table and sliding it to Moody. His movements were still jerky, as though the vial had burned his flesh in some sort of way. Ron was reminded of the muggles vampire stories of how holy water burned them. A rather accurate comparison, he thought with a thin smile, though Hermione would have killed him for such thoughts. Moody's gnarled hands gripped it and uncorked it. "Sit down and this'll be over soon enough. We'll see how much truth you've spilled out for the past few hours."

The cold crystal of the vial was pressed between his lips and a small trickle of the liquid slid down his throat. It tasted like rat poison, in his opinion at least, as he had never ingested poison. The effect was instant and Ron felt as though he had been thrown backwards from his body, similar to the effect of a Portkey, and was watching Moody and Remus interrogate him through a sort of haze. It was nothing different then what he had been saying before hand and it turned Moody's scared face a nasty pale color. After the interrogation, he dimly felt his shoulder being taped with a wand before he was returned to his original state, feeling slightly dizzy.

"Molly's not going to be happy about this, not at all," muttered Remus. When Moody handed Snape back his potion, the tall, dark-haired man swept from the kitchen, still as pale as a ghost, the skin almost translucent in its appearance. Whatever had happened had certainly not been a pleasant memory and Ron didn't want to know exact details.

Moody had insisted on interrogating Ginny, but had been stopped by both a pale Mrs. Weasley and a tired Remus. After being told the chain of events by Remus, the Weasley matron looked up at Ron's face with her brown eyes strained. She did not look like the happy housewife in his childhood, but rather a poor impersonation of her. She was thinner by a considerable amount, her hair wiry and as bushy as Hermione Granger's. Her face was pale, her hands shook when she tried to hold them straight and her eyes were bloodshot, heavy bags under them. She pulled Ron into a tight hug.

"Oh Ron," she choaked, voice wavering like a poorly build bridge, "I'm so sorry for stunning you earlier!" Her hands touched his wings, which twitched on her cold touch. He could only dimly feel her fingertips, but only dimly. He put a hand on her shoulder, giving a pleading look at his younger sister. Ginny shook her head and left the room, looking angry. She must have gotten wind of the article about Harry.

"Mum, I'm alright, okay?" he said, trying to convince her otherwise

"Y-you're cer-certianly not," she stuttered, looking up into his face. She took several calming breaths, one hand on her heart and the other brushing the tears from her cheeks. "But I must say, you do look handsomer."

He flushed such a dark red it made a sunset look pale. "Did you, erm, read that piece by Rita Skeeter?" This made the normally cheery woman's eyes narrow to tiny slits, her breathing heavy. Always a warning sign. He had no idea why he had brought up the conversation, but he wanted desperately to get off the topic of his unusual metamorphosis.

"HONESTLY!" she snorted in a voice usually reserved for Fred and George, "Harry may be upset about Sirius, but he's not crazy! And Percy! HOW DARE HE SAY SUCH THINGS!" Ron, who had expected more, watched with a wince as his mother stormed off, screeching about writing a Howler. He didn't envy Percy when he got that crimson envelope.

**12 Willow Avenue**

There were not enough words in the English language to describe Harry's feelings towards Rita Skeeter and her article. Amelia had left the second he had taken the paper and Hermione was deadly quiet as he re-read it again and again. Numb shock was what was echoed inside his mind, anger and fear also present. There was a reward for his capture, like he was some sort of criminal, for murders he didn't commit.

Ironically, the same scenario as Sirius Black.

Harry breathed deeply, clutching the paper very tightly. "God kill me if I ever find peace," he said with a bit of black humor, looking at Hermione's ashen face.

"I can't believe it," she said weakly, "They think you killed your aunt and uncle?"

"Looks damn like it." He fell into a chair and closed his eyes, trying not to let his temper explode. It was a daunting task and simply gripped the chair very tightly. "If I stay here, you're going to get roped into this mess. Maybe I should just leave - "

Hermione gave him a severe look that would have made Professor McGonagall proud. "I'm already knee deep in this mess no matter what you do. They'd come to interview me for your whereabouts, so don't put the blame on yourself."

He gave a smile, fingering his mother's pendent. "I think we've made your mum and dad wait long enough for dinner, right?" It was a poor attempt to change the subject, but it worked well enough. Hermione nodded and went out to fetch her parents.

"So I'm a murderer now?" he thought softly, looking at the ivory lily and placing it in the center of his palm, "What the hell should I do now?"

**GOD DAMN FUDGE!** roared Sirius and there was the sound of something breaking.

**Harry, stay with Hermione and her family. **A thrill of . . . something erupted inside his chest. His mother, his mother was talking to him. **Dumbledore will sort this out.**

**In any case, its not like the public's going to believe that load of dung,** snapped James's voice, **Especially after last year, from what Padfoot told us.**

He felt numb for a moment, listening as his parents reassured him, but their one-sided conversation was ended by the arrival of the Grangers. Amelia sat down and quickly grabbed a piece of bread, dumping it completely into the sauce before tearing a chunk out of it. Harry sighed and sat down. It didn't matter right now, all he could think of doing was just waiting for the Order of the Phoenix to come and explain.

'More like they'd just come and shelter me like some fragile piece of china,' he thought angrily, half-heartily responding to Mr. Granger's questions about his school life. Hermione happily supplied more answers, apparently sensing that Harry didn't want to give much away and explained perkily about her career choices.

"Well a healer's always an interesting choice, isn't it?"

"A magical doctor? Impressive Hermione. What about you, Harry?" asked Mrs. Granger sweetly, twirling her fork.

"I haven't given it much thought, really," he confessed. He really hadn't. There were always the options of an auror or professional Seeker. Vaguely he wondered what his father had been.

"There has to be something. Hermione's told us you were thinking of being an auror. That's like the wizarding secret police, isn't it?" Mr. Granger chuckled, "That should be a challenge."

He felt heat rise in his cheeks. "I dunno." He saw Amelia watch him carefully as she tore another piece from her bread. Swallowing, she spoke in her quiet voice. "What about a foreign ambassador? You know, represent different people." There was something about her voice that made him feel edgy. Did she know about him being a 'demon', as Mitsukai had so delicately described it?

"Oh Harry wouldn't be interested in something like that," scoffed Hermione.

"How would you know?" he shot back with a smile. Both her parents laughed, though Amelia simply turned back to her dinner.

The meal passed rather uneventfully, and there was a pleasant surprise with the return of Hedwig. The snowy owl was seated on Hermione's old-fashion desk, pruning her wings and gave a happy hoot at the sight of her master. He saw that a few of her wings were still tinged with the ash of the fire. There was a note tied to her leg and he winced at the sight of it.

"Oh, so Professor Dumbledore did reply to your letter!" Hermione said, shutting the door behind her, "Go on, read it!"

Untying the parchment, he saw it was not written by Dumbledore, but in a rather unique style. It was type written, each line with a different hand and ink.

_Little Boy,_

_Beware the moon of Blue blood, for awakening your demon form does. The Queen of Light brings but ill, your head is what she wants. Search for a time-travel hourglass and return to the year 42 of 1900's. Find the Puzzle Child, hidden within the walls of the snake's chamber. The true child, born from the Daughter of Snakes, for only he can kill the Cataclysmic Marriage of the broken Seraphs._

_We will see you the night of your birth. We send our regards to the King's child. _

_With nothing wished but madness,_

_Emerald Moon, Sapphire Sun_

He let out a frustrated growl, sounding more animal then he had intended. "Again with the riddles! The world wants to see me locked up in a mental hospital!"

Hermione took the paper from him and scanned it quickly, brow furrowed. "Let's see . . . The moon of Blue blood, that's an easy one. Tomorrow night's July's second full moon, and July's moon is known as the blood moon. The Queen of Light, no idea. Then . . . Apparently these people want you to go back in time and find Tom Riddle. Since a riddle is a puzzle and he's descendent from Salazar Slytherin on his mother's side . . ."

He goggled at her, eyes wide behind his glasses, and she clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently. "It's not that hard to figure out!"

"I suppose you've heard of these people then?" he snapped coldly.

"Nope. I don't know who this 'King's child is either' but since Hedwig is here, send her to the Order telling them where you are. That'll probably ease a few things out." Harry sighed angrily, fiddling with the lily pendent.

**Harry?** It was his mother. **There's something I need to tell you something. I'm . . . I'm the reason why you're a lycanthrope now.**

**Tepes Manor, London**

The demon race has always been obscured in shadows, unknown and dislikes by humankind for simply being an enigma. However, one of the breeds of demons has been known to wizards for centuries: the vampire. They were not true demons, like kitsune and dragoons, as the great Queen did not breathe life into them. They were born from the tengu, bat-demons of old, now extinct, whose bite made humans into a sort of half-demon. Since their predecessors were gone from the Earth and their blood as black as any other demon, they were gladly accepted as another breed.

Vlad Tepes, known as Dracula to those not of demon blood, rarely had any guests apart from vampires. It had been the first time in several years that a lycanthrope had walked through his doors, especially one of such a high rank as Zephyr Windstorm, brother of the current chieftain. The platinum haired boy bowed in respect for the count, his clothing contrasting sharply with the pale of his hair and skin.

"Zephyr, it's been a long time since I've seen you," said Tepes brightly, smiling at the younger demon. Whilst the stereotype placed him as an intellectual and gothic man, the real Count Dracula fit more along the lines of an eccentric inventor. His dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, his angular face one of a man in his prime with glittering, bright navy eyes with youthful energy. Currently dressed in a pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater under a singed and blackened lab coat, a pair of emerald sunglasses rested in the breast pocket.

"Milord," began Windstorm but the vampire shook his head.

"Please, I've known you and your sister since you were cubs, so for the Queen's sake, don't give me any of this formality crap," he said brightly, leading Windstorm into the grand hall. It had been decorated by his wife, who had the same sense for colors as his many daughters-in-law did. Dark fabrics of red and black hung in tapestries on the wall, Persian rugs slapped in various designs on the ground beneath an eloquently carved dining room set. The large windows were blocked by blood red curtains, doing little to help with lighting. Mumbling darkly as Windstorm took a seat, Tepes pulled the curtains out to show the dull London skylight.

Windstorm coughed to get the vampire's attention and continued to speak in his curt, almost bored-sounding voice. "Madame Mitsukai has a job for you, if you're interested in some pay. She's willing to pay double her weight in wizard gold if you get this correct." Tepes raised an eyebrow and chuckled lightly. "I'm not a mercenary, as she should bloody well know; my son does all of that."

True, the only vampire that fit the wizard and muggle picture of one was Alucard Tepes Dracula, the count's only child who currently lived in Carpathia with his ten wives and fifty children. It'd been he who had committed the crimes his father had the scapegoat for a hundred years ago, chronicled by the bounty hunter Bram Stoker. He hadn't seen his son in years, not after the whole event with the headless chicken and the ketchup at his mother's birthday. . .

Windstorm reached into his coat and pulled out a folded envelope, sealed with the crest of the Mitsukai family (an angel's and devil's crossed wings.) Tepes took the note and scanned it quickly, muttering in Romanian as he did so. Although Windstorm was not fluent in the language, he could understand one phrase. 'Damn woman has worse handwriting then a doctor.'

"She wants me to find one girl in all of London and sire her? Who does she think I am, Sherlock Holmes?"

Windstorm gave an icy glare, red eyes narrowed. "Madame Mitsukai, as mentioned in her letter to you, relates this girl to the King's child, mentioned in the prophecy of the Broken Ones." Tepes gave him a sharp glare to, though he could not stop the smirk that crossed his face.

"I'm not an idiot, Zephyr. If I do this job, the whole hell of humans are going to have a bounty on my head. I had to deal with it three hundred years ago and I don't want to have to do it again. I'm perfectly happy with blowing up things in my basement."

"Count -"

"IT'S JUST VLAD, DAMNIT!" yelled Tepes, eyes widening in anger as the vampire's traditional red hue entered the navy eyes. Windstorm didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Wouldn't you enjoy being known as the sire of the 'bat-winged beauty?' The father of one of the six soon-to-be legendary heroes and heroines?" That got Tepes interest. If there was one thing he enjoyed more then random chaos and the idealistic dream of the perfect soft drink, it was positive attention. Tepes slipped the note into his coat pocket and clasped a hand on Windstorm's shoulder.

"Alright, you've convinced me. But don't ever let Alucard know that he's got a younger sister. He'd try and convert her into some sort of cult . . ."

_**End Chapter Five: Shards of Puzzle Pieces**_


	6. Vampires and Werewolves

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

Please Note Alucard's name was originally based off of play on words. I did not realize that the Hellsing manga contained a vampire named Alucard. Please excuse this coincidence.

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

**_Chapter Six: Vampires and Werewolves_**

_**Breaking the Habit**_

_**Singer**_

_**Linkin Park**_

_Memories consume  
Like opening the wounds  
I'm picking me apart again  
You all assume  
I'm safe here in my room  
Unless I try to start again _

I don't want to be the one  
The battles always choose  
'Cause inside I realize  
That I'm the one confused

I don't know what's worth fighting for  
Or why I have to scream  
I don't know why I instigate  
And say what I don't mean  
I don't know how I got this way  
I know it's not alright  
So I'm breaking the habit  
I'm breaking the habit, tonight

Clutching my cure  
I tightly lock the door  
I try to catch my breath again,  
I hurt much more  
Than anytime before  
I have no options left again

I don't want to be the one  
The battles always choose  
'Cause inside I realize  
That I'm the one confused

I don't know what's worth fighting for  
Or why I have to scream  
I don't know why I instigate  
And say what I don't mean  
I don't know how I got this way  
I'll never be alright  
So, I'm breaking the habit  
I'm breaking the habit, tonight

I'll paint it on the walls  
'Cause I'm the one at fault  
I'll never fight again  
And this is how it ends

I don't know what's worth fighting for  
Or why I have to scream  
But now I have some clarity  
To show you what I mean  
I don't know how I got this way  
I'll never be alright  
So, I'm breaking the habit  
I'm breaking the habit  
I'm breaking the habit, tonight . . .

**Hogwarts Castle**

Reifujin Shirahime Shirogane was not one to get angry. Her piercing lavender eyes were narrowed in intense dislike as she stared upon her bodyguard, whom she did not trust within the slightest. After all, he was a demon, and everybody knew demons were lying, evil, twisted entities brought on the earth to cause misery for all others. Ryu was looking at her with an equally icy glare, masking hatred behind his lime eyes.

"What are you scheming?" she barked harshly at his blank face. The Reaper did not answer but his raven wings ruffled uneasily, as they often did in her company. Ryu did not look like most of his fellow Reapers, the raven-demons who guided dead souls to Khalida's realm, whose hair was often not the bright and cheery color Ryu's was. He was a tall, slim young man with long limbs and bright turquoise hair that hung around his pale, skull-like face. His cheeks were splashed with a few freckles set against a milk-white background, while his slanted eyes were the color of ice.

Shirogane growled behind clenched teeth and flung her fist towards the demon's cheek. Knowing better then to try and dodge, which he could easily have done, he allowed her fragile fingers to collide with his face. He gave no whimper of pain but spoke in his even, yet empty voice. "Your Excellency, might I be as bold as to question why you agreed to this position? An Archangel of such a caliber as yours can do better then teaching petty humans."

As much as any other would have enjoyed those sugary words, Shirogane's eyes merely narrowed further as she tapped her slipper-clad foot on the stone floor of her new office. "My mother's records left information on six traitors who will be resting within this building. After properly disposing of them, I will resume my original plans, of which are not privy to your ungrateful eyes." She spat at his booted feet and he made no movement.

Knowing he would probably end up getting hurt for his comments, Ryu still spoke them with a clipped tongue and even icier speech then that of his norm. "Shirahime, I am your brother yet you show me about as much affection as you do the dirt. Thrice I have laid down my life for yours, and nearly met with the Death Queen, yet you do not allow me access to any of your life. Do you truly hate me so?" Her eyes were blazing with lavender fire as she waved a hand harshly through the air. Shackles made of heavy metal appeared upon his neck and wrists, squeezing tight. Even Ryu, used to such abuse, gagged and sputtered as he tried to lift his arms to pull off the band around his neck.

"You are not my kin, you bastard child," she said with a sneering smile, eyes glittering manically, "You are the byproduct of an evil, vile act committed upon my holy mother and you are only alive because of her kindness. Count your blessings when you dare to insult me, you worthless piece of flesh and feathers!" She kicked him hard in the ribs, cracking one at least. "And never speak my name. It does not deserve to be tainted by your tongue." Adjusting her kimono's collar, she marched from the room, leaving him chocking and dying from lack of oxygen. His eyes were mad and going pale at the edges, the demon's sign for death.

The shadows in the office materialized into a solid body, forming a tall, slender man clad in very nineteenth century style clothing in shades of bright red and black, nearly painful to the eye. His thick black hair was pulled back in a sharp tail while his vermilion eyes glittered eeriely in the semi-darkness of the dungeon room behind square glasses. He chuckled as he watched Ryu claw at his throat with arms weighed down like weights. It went on for a few minutes until Ryu's lips began to turn as blue as his hair, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lurched forward.

"You just can't hold your tongue, can you Ryuichi?" he sniggered, voice thick with a Romanian accent and a bitter dialect. He snapped his fingers and the bangles evaporated, leaving only gray smoke and the smell of sulfur behind. Ryu rubbed his throat testily, his eyes narrowed upon Alucard Tepes' form. The vampire prince grinned manically, displaying his long and pearly white fangs.

"Damn you Dracula," Ryu wheezed, examining the raw circles encasing his wrists, "Can you not just help me for once instead of waiting for me to meet my Reaper?" Alucard tilted his head on an angle while he gave his trademarked evil chuckle. "Where's the fun in that Shirogane? I always enjoy noticing how your bitch of a sister ignores my presence every time."

Ryu pushed himself to his feet, folding his wings to his back and allowing them to melt back into his flesh. His elfin ears returned to those of a human and he stood towards the vampire, looking about as normal as Ryuichi Shirogane could possibly get. The Reaper folded his arms and examined Alucard's right hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, embroidered with the lacy letters spelling the name Etna, Alucard's first wife.

"Have a rumble in a Paris bar again, or is it family trouble?" Ryu asked, his lips curling at the corners. It was well known amongst the demon races for the vampire's many quarrels with his wives and children. It didn't help much he had regular fights with his mother over letters (usually written in blood), while poor Lucy had taken to annoying Vlad for a daughter to raise properly. Alucard gave him a sharp look and tugged at the tie of his makeshift bandage.

"The second one, as usual," he said lazily, examining the dry black blood that had caked the pale skin of his hand, "Etna threw a wine bottle at me and it caught my hand. She is not going to be happy tonight, let me tell you. Perfectly good wine, wasted," he responded with a sniggering laugh, tossing back stray locks of his black hair in an almost feminine manner. Of course, if Ryu had spoken those words aloud he would be lucky to come off alive. From the pocket of his overly-dramatic coat, Alucard pulled out a piece of pink writing paper and held it with nothing more then two fingernails, blatant disgust on his face.

"It's from Atlanta, blasted wolfhound," he snapped, balling the paper into his fist and tossing it to the floor by Ryu's feet, "She's having another one of those 'Save the whale' conventions and wants us to come. I'm not going, last time she tried to get me into the ridiculous costume. She says she misses you." Alucard laughed as Ryu's pale cheeks turned slightly pink. Atlanta Windstorm was the leader of the Lycanthropes, a free spirited and giggly girl with about as much fashion sense as Alucard had humility. Americans called her kind of people 'tree-huggers' as Ryu believed, and – he remembered with a smile – it did not suit the rest of her strict, rigid family, especially Zephyr and her husband.

"There has to be more to Atlanta's letter then just a simple invitation to a garden party, what does she want from me?" he asked lazily, tugging at his raggedy gauntlets.

"Both of us, you blasted angel-spawn," Alucard growled, spreading his leathery wings, which were not unlike a dragon's, "She has orders directly from Khalida and Mitsukai, as well as my old man. We need to have some good old fashion London fun." Ryu didn't like the way Alucard's eyes glistened, since it usually brought forth some sort of mindless killing.

"Now what would three darling women and your crackpot father want with little old us?" Ryu asked sarcastically, flipping open Atlanta's invitation. His pale eyes scanned down the overly curly writing and the woman's large John Hancock, the 'I's dotted with smiley faces that made his skin crawl. "Harry Potter? What the devil does this woman think I am, the head of the secret police? How the hell am I going to be able to trail some snot-nosed hero brat with my sister-bitch holding me on a leash?" Here Alucard grinned again, forming his bat-wings with the blood-red membrane, and bowed low so the edge of his coat left the floor.

"Your job is to guard the child in the school, I will handle the outside. Shadowy corners are my specialty." The glimmer Ryu hated was back in his old friend's eyes and he sighed. Alucard was perhaps the only demon companion he had, since his darling family shoved him in the shadows all the time due to his 'unholy demonic nature'. From the vampire, Ryu had heard and learned all about the joyous world and its people, both humans and demons, finally proving he wasn't a freak and merely a Reaper, and a crappy one at that.

"Aren't you forgetting about the sixty or so birthdays you have to buy presents for within the next day or two?" Ryu asked in exasperation, running a hand through his pale hair as a bemused expression crossed his features. He doubted very much if the vampire knew any of his children's names, much less his wives'. Alucard shrugged carelessly and stood from his low bow.

"Please, I owe everyone far too many gifts to be concerned. I'll just bring a virgin or two over for dinner and they'll all be happy for a long time." For emphasis he ran his tongue across his fangs. Ryu winced slightly but nodded.

"Say hello to Atlanta for me, and apologize since I won't be able to go to her convention."

"What the hell makes you think _I'm _going boy? There's no way in hell I'm getting near that wolfhound after she called me Aly and tried to get me in that whale costume." With that remark and his trademark sneer, Alucard vanished into the shadows of his arrival. Ryu grinned to himself for a moment before proceeding to destroy Atlanta's letter and Alucard's arrival.

**12 Willow Avenue**

Harry blinked several times, knowing that if he was still in his demonic body, his ears would be lowered in surprise and slight shock. "What?" he hissed, making Hermione stare at him in worry. He ignored her and spoke back to his mother. "What did you just say?" he asked slowly and clearly. Inside his mind, Lily Potter took a sighing breath and spoke in a quite, gentle voice.

**My best friend, in both Bath and Hogwarts, was a girl named Atlanta. She . . . she was a funny person, very eco-friendly. Her family was extremely strict and didn't really approve of her friendship with me. But she . . . in our seventh year, at graduation, she pulled me aside and told me that she didn't trust James, that she didn't like him at all, but if I loved him, she'd help me in every way. She told me that she'd be moving to America within the next year and . . . and if I ever had any children, she'd make sure they'd be safe, from everything and asked me . . .** Lily took another deep breath. **. . . When you were born, she came back with her brother and her husband. She really liked you Harry, and Sirius and Remus liked her . . . She's your godmother Harry, Atlanta Windstorm is, and she promised that she's make sure that you'd be protected and safe.**

"Didn't do a good job did she?" he said with a dark laugh. Hermione was staring at him strangely, and spoke softly. "Is it . . . that necklace you said you could talk to your mum and dad . . .?" He ignored her.

**Don't say that. Atlanta was told by Dumbledore to stay away from you, because she and her brother were demons . . . Lycanthropes, like you. He didn't trust them, you see. I trusted Dumbledore with my life, but he's too blinded by bigotry and the light. But she kept in touch with Remus, Sirius just told me. Well, when she came that night, she asked me if I was willing to do anything to keep you safe. I said yes, even if it meant making you a demon. I'm so sorry Harry . . .**

He let go of the lily pendent and fell onto Hermione's bed, feeling slightly numb. Hermione stared at him and he answered the question she had yet to speak. "It was my mother . . . She . . ." He balled his hands tightly into fists on his knees. "My godmother's still alive and Dumbledore forbade her from every talking to me!"

"Harry, what did she say to you?" Hermione asked quickly, sitting next to him as he drew out Mitsukai's amulet and fiddled with it for a while. "My godmother's a Lycanthrope," he said quietly, "A demon like me . . ."

". . . Do you think we should contact Dumbledore?" Hermione asked, off topic, "So he'll be able to sort out this whole Ministry affair?"

"Yes. Owl Dumbledore, so I can find out why I never got to meet my godmother!" he snarled, making Hermione scramble away from him fast. His face burned in embarrassment and he let go of the amulet, watching as his nails grew longer. "Hermione, I . . ."

"I don't understand any of this," she said slowly, her face still a slight shade of pale, "But I do know it has to be horrible for you, especially. Dumbledore will straighten this all out, like he always does."

"You're not understanding something," he said, trying to sound unemotional and trying to keep his temper down, "Dumbledore kept me locked up for ten miserable years with people who never missed a chance to deprive me of anything happy. Dumbledore never explained anything to me and pushed me aside, like I was some sort of little kid who couldn't take care of himself and couldn't understand anything. Now I just find out that he's pushed back a person who could have made my life much happier, so much better . . . He's not going to explain anything to me about this, he's going to get Snape to brew a potion, give me back a normal look and shove me in the corner while the grown ups take care of everything!"

His nails were digging deep into his palm, his teeth clenched tightly together. Hermione leaned over and hugged him tightly, knocking his hat askew and allowing his stiff ears to resume a canine's normal appearance. "He does what's best," she said, her voice muffled slightly since she was speaking into his hair, "And we'll just have to go along with that. I'll help you find your godmother, so maybe she can help if she's a . . . a demon like you."

He grinned slightly to himself and hugged her back, wondering wither or not being a demon was a good or bad thing. He pulled apart from her and picked up his discarded hat, where his friend gave a loud click of her teeth. "That thing looks so stupid on you!" she snapped, moving over to her desk and taking a pencil to write out a letter to Dumbledore. Harry shrugged lightly and stood, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. "I like it," he said stubbornly, "It's kind of cool actually." Hermione merely rolled her eyes as she wrote, her head tilted on an angle slightly and her tongue between her teeth. He fingered the lily pendent again, and heard Sirius' speak.

**Lily told me what she said. Listen, about Atlanta, Dumbledore didn't think it wise to let someone like her near you. I didn't know she was a, erm, Lycanthrope, but she always had this really shady looking character with her in Hogsmead. Said he was a family friend, but everyone pretty much assumed she was a vampire, and her friend was Dracula.**

"And why is that?" he asked silkily. Sirius sighed. **Atlanta herself, from school I remember, was . . . extreme. She was suspended quite a few times for defending Lily from older students, and she had an almost sadistic attitude towards James. Broke his arm one time in sixth year for a couple of pranks. Add in her . . . husband Thantos and she wasn't considered an able-bodied guardian for you. Remus liked her though, thought she was special. We used to tease him and James about Lily and her.** Sirius chuckled lightly for a moment. **But there was something about her scent that had always bothered him. He told me once. She smelt like him, you know, like a wolf, but she acted more like a puppy.**

"Do you know where she is now?" Hermione was giving him strange looks again.

**Somewhere in New York City, I think. She went over there with her brother to form a magazine company or something like that. Completely gave up on magic, what I heard. Never was too good at it.**

He remembered how his magic had begun to dull during his fight with Bellatrix, and frowned suddenly as the outcome of the fight never came to his mind. It was like he had fainted, the whole start of the fire wasn't in his memory. Shrugging it off, he lazily scratched behind his ears and flinched slightly when they violently twitched. It was still unnaturally bizarre to be able to feel his ears like that, and to look at his hands and see near inch and a half long, claw-like nails.

"Alright then we just need to wait for an owl to send this to Dumbledore," said Hermione suddenly, folding up the letter and turning to him. "Are you okay? You didn't eat much."

"Too much on my mind," he said with a small sigh, "It's just . . . You don't mind I'm like this?" He took of his hat and felt his ears twitch. She blinked for a moment and smiled. "It's different, yes, but it's not like your going after people for their blood or anything. I'll get used to it, and so will you."

He grinned again and Hermione shivered slightly. "Just don't smile . . ."

**Tepes Manor, London**

The Lady of the Kitsune, Makai Mitsukai, was draped in the chase lounge in Vlad's study, her usual attire swapped for an elaborate kimono of indigo silk embroidered with golden orchids. Rich jewelry made from lapis lazuli were at her throat and wrists, including many Necromancy talismans and amulets while platinum wires were embroidered into her braided hair. She looked nice; it was a pleasant change from her usual gothic appearance. She smiled lightly as the vampire entered the room, his ponytail singed from his experiments, his attire a simple shirt and jeans, stained with blood and ash.

"Sorry for the wait Makie," he said with a strange sort of grin, moving towards the mini-bar and a bottle of Kitsune blood. "You don't mind if I have a drink, do you? I just like your blood too much." Mitsukai shrugged carelessly and tossed back a few strands of her dark hair.

"I can't take too long Vlad, since Drei and Kara are coming over tomorrow for the anniversary of Shirogane's murder next month," she said calmly as he poured the thick black liquid into a wine glass, "So let me get to my point quickly."

"Yes, darling little Zephyr came by earlier to tell me of your plan," he said darkly, taking a seat in his leather chair and leaning back, resting his dragon-hide boots on a stack of books, "You want me to sire a girl in London because she's part of the ancient prophecy, right?"

Mitsukai smiled. "Trusty Zephyr, fast like wind. But yes, he was correct. Are there any confusing parts to my request?"

He drained the glass in a single shot and stared at the massive library around them. The Dracula family library was a large, circular room with bookshelves on all the walls. There was a small extension of the room, featuring a piano and art easel where his wife dabbled in painting nothing but the leaders of the demon species. The large fireplace had an elaborately carved mantel, featuring bats and crescent moons, with a large portrait of himself and Lucy above it, a younger Alucard in his mother's lap. The rugs were mismatched and stolen from various dealers, the furniture similar, all in shades of silver and blue. It wasn't very tidy, piles of books gathered around everywhere and small artifacts cluttering the desk.

"Makie," he said licking the glass for the last of the blood, "Why can't Alucard or somebody else do this job? I'd rather cut my own head off again – and that hurt, mind you – then get my ass hauled in by those human bureaucrats. Alucard would just kill all of them and be done with it." Mitsukai draped herself over the edge of chase lounge, the sleeve of her kimono slipping down slightly to reveal her pale shoulder.

"Little baby Aly is not suited for this task. He is merely the prince of the vampires, you are their king Vladdie." She picked up a silver picture frame from the desk and looked at the person inside. It was Alucard again, about thirteen or fourteen and taken sometime in the early days of photography. He was sitting straight up, his dark hair framing a handsome yet thin face, his eyes blank. She grinned slightly.

"He was still half-human when this was taken, right?" Vlad nodded and leaned back further in his chair and yawned widely, revealing his long canine teeth. "Yep. Lil' Aly was still human, still with morals and actual love, I think. I must be one crap ass father if I turned an innocent little boy into the mindless pervert and killing demon that is Alucard Tepes."

"I'd prefer if you left my out of conversations."

Vlad nearly fell backwards from his chair as his son remerged from the doorway, clothed like a medieval duke in shades of black and dark blue. His red eyes were narrowed as he walked swiftly across the room. "Holy shit Alucard, when did you get here?" snapped Vlad, adjusting his collar. Mitsukai stood and gave the vampire a small kiss, which he practically convulsed at.

"About the time you kept referring to me as 'Aly'," he snapped, taking the bottle of Kitsune blood and draining half of it in seconds, "And yes, you are a shitty father. What kind of man lets his son marry and doesn't send one complaint when he's never invited to the receptions? Let me tell you, you don't miss much except Etna and Sienna coming over and slapping me."

"Shame I've missed them then," said Vlad dryly, "And you do know you're drinking Kairai Okami's blood?" Mitsukai gave a small smile, showing her own small fangs. "My, my, looks like Kairai is cutting herself again. I'll ask Drei to put her back in rehab." Alucard rolled his eyes and took a long sip from the bottle, licking his fangs. "Please. Okami's got the best blood I've ever tasted. She a virgin?"

Mitsukai nodded and turned back to Vlad. "Before little Aly came, I wanted to tell you who your new daughter will be." Alucard choked on the bottle, dripping the ebony liquid down his chin and gasping. Vlad raised an eyebrow.

"Why the hell would you care, you've been asking me for a little sibling since you were a hundred. Lucy was willing to give you that sandy haired bastard back in 1960."

Alucard wiped his chin and threw the bottle at Vlad. He ducked, catching the bottle over his head. "Is this girl pure? Christian is she?" Mitsukai tilted her head and nodded with a metallic gleam in her navy eyes. "Pure as snow, but bossy and kind and gentle." Alucard stared at her and grinned happily, shouting profanity joyfully.

"Does she have a name?" asked Vlad irritated, setting the bottle down and glaring at his son with narrow dark blue eyes. Mitsukai stood, walking gracefully over towards the mini-bar and took a bottle of chrysanthemum sake and the thick red elixir that was virgin blood, mixing the two in a wine glass. "Her name's Hermione Granger, the brain behind the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. I presume you know him, Alucard?"

Alucard snorted and took the remaining sake. "Ja. Atlanta and I have a restraining order on him. Pain in the ass, that is. How are you supposed to make the man insane if you can't get within a foot of him?"

"About as fun as sitting around this house because your son gave you a horrid stereotype," snapped Vlad, "Do you know how much that sucks to see little kids wandering around, dressed up as you? I don't think they realize I don't look a thing like that."

"You're both annoying little people with no real existence except to torment those on earth," said Mitsukai lazily, drinking her concoction with unpleasant relish on her face, "What a pity. You can't taste the blood."

"Makie, is there anything else I need to know?"

"Beware of the wolf-man, Prong's son. He has an abnormally strong beserker form, an even stronger force for a mere half-demon. If little Aly got his hands on Potter, we might as well resurrect Hitler and enjoy World War II again," she cooed, pouring two more glasses of blood for Alucard and Vlad, "I miss the old days. Kara and Drei were Nazis, and Tenrai would have been very proud of them." Vlad raised an eyebrow. It wasn't often Mitsukai reminisced about her dead husband Tenrai Mitsukai, who was killed in cold blood by Asako Shirogane and his head mounted one a pike. The kitsune head had then been paraded around a town in feudal Japan.

"Heh," said Alucard, taking the glass Mitsukai offered him, "That was the only time I ever decided to work for America. Miserable experience. At least I got to kill the Italians."

Mitsukai raised her glass. "To the joy of incoming war. May many men perish in the outcome."

Alucard and Vlad toasted her as well, Alucard's demented smile present in the lamplight and Vlad's bemused expression in his eyes.

**_Reifujin means 'lady' in Japanese._**

_**End Chapter 6: Vampires and Werewolves**_


	7. Atlanta and Thantos Bifactor

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists. Thantos Bifactor belongs to Anima Celeste.

**Wanted: Beta Reader with knowledge of Japanese and/or German grammar**

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

**_Chapter Seven: Atlanta and Thantos Bifactor_**

_**Beauty and the Beast  
**__**Singer  
**__**Nightwish**_

_Remember the first dance we shared?  
Recall the night you melted my ugliness away?  
The night you left with a kiss so kind  
Only a scent of beauty left behind _

Ah dear friend I remember the night  
The moon and the dreams we shared  
Your trembling paw in my hand  
Dreaming of that northern land  
Touching me with a kiss of a beast

I know my dreams are made of you  
Of you and only for you  
Your ocean pulls me under  
Your voice tears me asunder  
Love me before the last petal falls

As a world without a glance  
Of the ocean's fair expanse  
Such the world would be  
If no love did flow in thee  
But as my heart is occupied  
Your love for me now has to die  
Forgive me I need more than you can offer me

Didn't you read the tale  
Where happily ever after was to kiss a frog?  
Don't you know this tale  
In which all I ever wanted  
I'll never have  
For who could ever learn to love a beast?

However cold the wind and rain  
I'll be there to ease your pain  
However cruel the mirrors of sin  
Remember beauty is found within

. . . Forever shall the wolf in me desire the sheep in you . . .

**12 Grimmauld Place**

Sleeping proved more difficult then originally thought to Ron, since he couldn't properly get comfortable with his wings folded tightly to his back. He rubbed his tired eyes and pressed his warm cheek against the metal of his bed's headboard, which did nothing to soothe him to sleep. He could still hear the voices of the Order drifting upstairs through his open bedroom door, despite the late hour of the night, and knew they were talking about him. For once, his name was mentioned where Harry's had always been put, and it wasn't as glamorous as he had always suspected it to be. He turned over to lean against the wall, wincing as he put too much pressure on one wing and scowling very darkly as he cast a sharp look at them.

True, Ron did like flying on a broom, but he had not enjoyed his brief ride on a Thestral last June and probably wouldn't like flying of his own accord. With a tired yawn, he ran his hand through his darkened hair. Just what the bloody hell was he anyway, some sort of demonic angel? He shifted again and gave a soft cry as his wing folded strangely again.

"Why can't I just rip the stupid things off?" he muttered darkly, falling onto the pillow of the bed and scowling even darker. He felt his eyes start to droop shut but they jerked open suddenly as he heard a woman's voice whisper sharply to his left, speaking with a thick German accent he didn't prefer too much.

"Fledgling rafen, I must speak vith you and I trust that you vill not scream." He gave a small yelp and turned to the window, standing straight up. Ron's wings unfurled in response to his fear, giving him a slight sense of security.

The window – which had been sealed by Mad-Eye Moody's magic – was now wide open, bringing in with it the cool zephyrs of the summer night and a very short girl of about nineteen, clutching a bundle of black fabric to her chest as she climbed into his bedroom. She was slightly odd looking, with black-streaked platinum hair pulled into a thick braid while her skin was as lifeless and pale as a corpse's. Set beneath finely shaped eyebrows was a pair of eyes colored clear and icy hazel, her facial features not much different then the blood German's. Her runner-like body, one that was both slim and muscular, was clad in a uniform style skirt and blouse, golden medals pinned to her left chest, several in the shape of skulls and feathers. Her top, which clung like leather to her torso and made her chest look enlarged (much to his distaste and embarrassment), had a low back and from either side of her spine were black wings – two to each side. Four raven wings, like his own, yet slimmer and with less of a shine.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" he said, speaker braver then he felt, since he was without his wand. The girl smiled in a sadistic, evil sort of way and folded her wings. "I am first-class archreaper Sergeant Verlust Strum. I am here to bring you something, as demanded by the rafen Seraph Silfen." Her voice was icy and her thick accent was deeply annoying, in his opinion. She held out the package in her arms to him, standing as rigidly as a soldier did. Scowling darkly, Ron looked at her folded wings.

"Are you, like me?" he asked, feeling awkward and rather stupid asking the question. Strum sniggered as well, pulling back her blackened lips to reveal slightly pointed teeth. "Ja, I suppose I am, if you want to consider literal means." She nodded at the parcel in her hands, "Take this rafen. It's your uniform."

Ron blinked rapidly. "Uh, uniform?" She scowled darkly, her eyes flashing despite the lack of light in the room. "Your. Uniform," she repeated slowly, then began to recite in a monotone like reading from a book, "As a Reaper, you are expected to come to the aide of your Seraph und commanding officers at a moment's notice. Und vhen you are assigned a charge, you are expected to see your charge to the fery end. These rules hafe been set down by the charter of the Reapers und written by Herr Silfen Strum, rafen Seraph und violation vill be punished on counts of treason, meriting the remofal of one's vings und beheading."

His mouth opened and closed rapidly for a long time, unable to say anything. He was suspected to be some sort of soldier to people he didn't give a damn about, on a minute's notice? Strum grit her teeth and shoved the parcel into his arms. "I vill leafe for a moment, und I vant to see how you look in your uniform vhen I return. I might hafe to tailor it." There was a note in her voice that proved she was not looking forward to the idea.

Walking swiftly back to the window and sitting halfway through it, she stood perfectly still as her wings molded back into her flesh. He winced slightly for a moment, and looked at what he was now holding. It was a neatly folded uniform, like hers, though without the medals and trousers where she had a skirt. It was reminiscent slightly of an old German World War II uniform – what were they called again, Nazis? – complete with a stupid looking hat, although the sleeves here were adorned with crimson thread in the shape of flames. Making sure Strum's eyes were out at the London cityscape and that his bedroom door was closed, Ron dressed in the uniform.

The only problem getting it on was his wings, which refused to fold correctly when he needed them to. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the shirt, his bare feet slipping in the baggy pants and shivering when they touched the cold floor. It felt nice for once to wear overlarge clothing; it was a change from his constant too-small hand-me-downs, though it was just about as annoying. Strum turned her head a little, smiling when she saw him dressed in the black outfit. It was too long in the pants and the shirt touched his fingertips, the whole ensemble clashing with his hair and eyes. She seemed to notice this and walked back over to him.

"This is no good; you're just too scrawny of a fledgling . . . Hmmm." She stood back and looked him up and down. "Listen, whoever you are," he said, taking a single step forward, "I want you to explain a few more things about what the bloody damn hell is going _on! _Why do I have wings and why the hell did you make me get dressed in this stupid uniform?"

She rolled her red eyes and licked her lips. "I'm not a storytelling, rafen, und I don't plan to efer be." He ground his teeth and Strum spoke in a cool voice, waving her fingers through the air. With a jump, he felt the shirt and trousers adjust themselves to fit his form perfectly. How had she used magic without a wand and why did it feel so right to be in a military uniform?

"Do you hafe any guardians I can speak to about you?" There was a note in her words, like a threat, that told him not to deny her request. He nodded and sighed. "Come on," Ron said, moving towards the door. He was pulled back sharply by his right wing by Strum, who had her wings revealed and her eyes narrowed in anger.

"Never order your superior, fledgling," she snarled icily, walking in swift strides across the room and down the hall. Ron was dragged by his wing, wincing and grimacing in pain. Her fingers pierced the tender skin beneath the feathers and it _hurt _like hell, though his frantic mind was on the reaction the Order would give to this woman – this archreaper, according to her. His money was placed on one idea, that Verlust Strum was not going to walk (or fly, he reminded himself) out of Grimmauld Place with all limbs attached correctly.

Ron assumed it was the clicking of her boots that first alerted the people in the kitchen, but it was the sight of her pitiless eyes and black wings that spurred them into action. Tonks and Lupin (who both looked exhausted after their frantic searching for Harry) drew their wands in instants while Mrs. Weasley took both a kitchen knife and her wand. Strum looked neither concerned nor vaguely frightened, merely raising her nose in arrogance.

"Guten tag," she said with a slight bow of her head, "I am archreaper Sergeant Verlust Strum, here on the orders of my Seraph Silfen Strum on matters of this fledgling." She pulled him into view and Mrs. Weasley nearly screamed, Tonks taking a look at the uniform he was dressed in. She probably would have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious, and he probably would have to.

"Who the bloody hell are you!" snarled Lupin, already edgy from lack of sleep and worry, not to mention the coming full moon. Strum stiffened. "I believe I just introduced myself. I mean you no bodily harm und merely wish to discuss the terms of this fledgling. Do I need to speak slower for you humans?" Ron wished he could hide, looking from each of the adult's faces of mingled fear, shock and anger. He swallowed and stood still, wings twitching and hoping he looked brave.

"Would you mind explaining what those terms are, or how you even got into this house?" asked Tonks, her eyes flashing various colors. Always a danger sign. Strum raised one eyebrow.

"That is unimportant, but vhat I vant to say before I leafe is that this fledgling," she jerked her head at Ron, "Has a job to fulfill unless he wishes to face the penalty of treason, vhich I am sure he will not enjoy. I have experienced it once, und I must commend that re-growing body parts – especially one's wings – is not the most pleasant of experiences." Ron was sure he wasn't the only one who was nauseous at the thought and his wings folded very tightly to his back.

"And what is his job?" asked Mrs. Weasley, her voice high and scared with her eyes growing wider and wider, "What do you claim he has to do?"

Strum looked the redhead witch straight in the eye, both of about equal height, and said in a cold monotone, "Rafen Reapers are the vassals for the dead. They are those who escort the departed to the lands beyond life, beyond existence, und vithout proper training und knowledge, they too join the specters." The last line was spoken with a malicious sort of pleasure, since her lips curled at the edges in a thin smile as Mrs. Weasley fainted.

**Ministry of Magic, London**

Courtroom number ten was filled with the muttering violet-clad citizens that made up the high court in British Wizarding government, all eyes upon the people in the bottom floor. The Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, looking worse for wear and tired as hell, glared sleepily at Albus Dumbledore and the two strange Americans he had only ever heard in name – Atlanta and Thantos Bifactor, Harry Potter's godmother and her husband. Both had just arrived from New York a few hours ago and immediately come to the Ministry, demanding Lily Potter's son. Fudge had to admit that just by looking at the couple, he was already beginning to dislike them.

Atlanta, with a sinewy and lanky build, had thick platinum hair tied in a high ponytail and milk white skin beneath a dark green poncho and dress, her hands – clad in the pale material of lace gloves – clutching multiple rolls of parchment. Her vermilion eyes, which were as round and bright as a doe's, were surveying the court with distaste and dark excitement. Her husband was about as normal looking as she was, which wasn't saying much. He could have only been thirty, maybe a little older, with outrageously long black hair streaked with wolf gray at his right temple, his skin a hard tan and rugged like a traveler's. He had adorned the classical American look – jeans and a loose fitting jumper – though his brilliant amber-brown eyes stood out in his dark face, as did the crescent-shaped scar that stretched from his right temple to chin.

"We are here to discuss the question of guardianship over Harry James Potter, age fifteen," said Fudge in a weary voice as his secretary began to scribble violently, "Brought on by Mr. and Mrs. Thantos Bifactor of New York City, with charges against Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts. Prosecution: Thantos Deamon Bifactor, professional violinist," (several people sniggered), "And Atlanta Wilhelmina Windstorm Bifactor, professional activist for animal and sub-human rights and priorities and a professional violinist as well."

Atlanta nodded from the pit, taking a seat in the chained chair, crossing her legs and looking perfectly content. "Defense: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School. I call this hearing into order." Had this been a muggle court, this would be the time where he'd bang a gavel, though Fudge wasn't too fond of the idea of a judge carrying around a giant wooden hammer. Atlanta got to her feet at once and looked at them with unflinching crimson eyes.

"Ladies an' gentleman," she began with a thick accent mixed between a Brooklyn and Southern American one, "An' I use dat term VERY loosely, I have evidence dat proves dat the kid known as Harry Potter technically, since I know ya'll love dat, is under da protection o' my husband and me. 'Cuz his aunt an' uncle are dead, da will o' Lily and James Potter states dat," she said, fumbling for a moment as she unrolled a scroll of parchment and shoved the other ones into her husband's arms, "'In da evident dat my husband an' I are no longer able to take care o' our son Harry, he shall be placed under guardianship o' one Sirius Black.'"

"We know this, Mrs. Bifactor," said Amelia Bones agitatedly, "Please skip down to where it states that you have custody over him." Atlanta glared at the witch and thumbed through the words, humming about two seconds of a song before speaking again in her annoying voice. "'If my sister an' her husband are unable or unwilling to accept guardianship over our son an' Sirius Black is in a similar state, custody is granted to his godmother Atlanta Windstorm – Bifactor now. In da event dat she is unable, pass the kid along to Remus Lupin den Peter Pettigrew an' so on an' so forth.'" Atlanta smirked wryly at Fudge, "So I want my godson!"

"There is the matter of your restraining order upon him," said Fudge coldly, "At the time of the Potter's murders, you were deemed unfit to raise him, do to past _criminal _records." Atlanta rolled her eyes as whispers ran through the Wizarding court room and she shifted her weight to one hip. Her eyes were narrowed.

"I broke an arm or two an' insulted a few people, dat ain't criminal amigo. Dat just makes me a jerk, an' a jerk is still fit to raise somebody. I mean, it's prejudice if ya wanna take it dat far . . ."

"Atlanta," said Thantos harshly, his voice lacking her annoying tone and featuring a slightly deluded British accent. The woman quieted as quick as if he had slapped her, lowering her shoulders lightly.

"Dumbledore, what do you say?" asked Madam Bones, turning her gray eyes to the aged wizard, "Given evidence." The man had remained silent but now stood, eyeing the couple rather strangely. Was it hatred in his eyes, or was it sorrow?

"Minister, Mrs. Bifactor renounced her magic and title as a graduate of Hogwarts around fifteen years ago, choosing to live as muggle. For her husband, I am not sure of."

"I'm a wizard," cut in Thantos, narrowing his brown eyes sharply, "Pureblood and descendent from Charles Lionel of Ireland, I believe you know of the last Wizarding duke?" People muttered for a minute at his revelation, though a look from Fudge silenced them. Dumbledore bowed his head and continued.

"And, according to law, a Wizarding child will not be raised in the home of muggles if there is a next option. For Harry Potter, it was decided last month that he would be adopted into the Weasleys if something were to happen to his aunt and uncle. I stand by that."

"So yer gonna ignore da will o' his parents!" roared Atlanta, her fists balled into tight hands as she dropped the last will and testament of Lily and James, "Dey wanted me to raise him if nobody else could, an' I ain't gonna let ya ship him off somewhere cuz of one stupid lil' document!"

"Mrs. Bifactor, restrain yourself!" said a wizard from the back of the Wizengamot. Atlanta marched up to Dumbledore, looking as though she was out for blood. "I know I ain't da best woman in da world, but Thantos is as good a father as any an' accordin' to his parents, we're what's left o' his inheritance! Ya gonna send him off to a werewolf? A dead man, a convict o' a family o' Irish?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Mrs. Bifactor, fifteen years ago you said that you had no objections to letting Harry live with his aunt and uncle."

"An' I didn't! Lily said she was gonna let her kid move in wit' dose muggles cuz dey were her sister if Sirius Black couldn't take care o' him. An' since ya'll didn't want a jailbird to be lettin' da kid learn to read an' write, he went to Petunia Dursley. I was fine wit' dat. Now, though, she an' he husband are dead, so it's my turn." Thantos pulled his wife back, giving her a sharp look. Again, Atlanta's protests died down instantly.

"However that is true, I was placed in charge of Harry's living arrangements when he was a child, according to Lily and James and the Minister of Magic. I do not deem you two worthy guardians."

Atlanta opened and closed her mouth rapidly, as though no words could describe her outrage, so Thantos spoke for a change. His voice was cool and even, sad almost, yet one could also call it a monotone. "Mr. Dumbledore, I have never had the pleasure of being your student, yet you look like a reasonable man. Just because my wife can get emotional does not mean she is unwilling or unable to raise her best friend's son, and her brother and parents are just like anybody you would find in this court room – upstanding and proud citizens of the magical community. We have a fair wealth, live in a safe area and would be more then willing to allow Harry to continue his schooling in England. I have no criminal records and, aside from the restraining order Atlanta has here, she has no further crimes and disgraces to her name."

Though his words sounded sincere, there was something about the man's look and appearance that Fudge didn't like. Maybe it was his weather-beaten skin or unruly hair, or even his eyes, that looked inhuman and disturbing. Dumbledore seemed to share Fudge's views.

"I am not saying that you have any thing less then a good house, but I do not feel that you would provide sufficient protection for somebody in Harry's situation. Would you be willing to put yourself and your wife at risk to protect him?"

Atlanta fought against her husband's bounds. "I thought I made it clear dat I couldn't care less about my life when I became his godmother! An' he wouldn't live in a muggle neighborhood, he'd be wit' a ton of yer magic folk!"

All eyes turned to Dumbledore. The wizard closed his eyes for a moment of pained thought, then spoke in a voice of forced calm. "Given the evidence provided by Mrs. Bifactor at this hearing, I have no choice but to issue custody over Harry Potter to her and her husband." Atlanta, all traces of rage gone from her face, threw her arms around Thantos's neck and her legs around his middle. Dumbledore left without another word, looking angry without words. Fudge turned to the woman on his right, the Head of the Department of Magical Child Care, Mademoiselle Alouette van Cur.

"Draw up the adoption papers," he said with a sigh and then turned back to the cheering Mrs. Bifactor, "I presume you are aware of his disappearance and charges in the involvement of his aunt and uncle's deaths." Thantos nodded, still clutching his wife. "We are aware and take responsibility. Permission to be excused from the courtroom?" The question threw Fudge off guard and he nodded slowly.

Thantos left the court room, clutching his wife like a parent did to a young child, his thick black ponytail swinging behind him.

**12 Willow Avenue**

The soft click-click against glass was what awoke Hermione. She blinked rapidly, pealing her face from the thick pages of a thick tome entitled _The Encyclopedia of Obscure and Strange Magical Creature_ and looked to her window. Hedwig, her feathers gray from ash and soot, was perched upon her windowsill, looking at her with tired amber eyes. Next to her perched a barn owl, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. With a sleepy hand and unfocused eyes, she unhooked the latch on her window and let the owls in.

"Hey girl," she cooed sleepily, standing up and rubbing her eyes, "You rest for a while, I'll get Harry . . ." Still trying to shake her mind awake, Hermione took the paper and paid the owl, which promptly flew from the room. Yawning widely as her fingers curled over the thick material that was newspaper parchment, she strode from her bedroom and onto the landing. Intoxicating aromas of cooking eggs and bacon wafted up from the kitchen, though it was early for either of her parents to be up. Frowning slightly, she walked downstairs and to where the early morning sunshine flooded in through pale yellow curtains and a sliding glass door.

Harry was at the stove, the amulet cloaking his wolfish qualities, sleeves rolled up and hat removed, cooking breakfast. His eyes looked tired behind the red-hued glasses, his skin a slight pallid color, though looked perfectly content surrounded by a ton of food. He jumped when she said his name softly, turning sharply.

"Oh, erm, good morning," he said, turning back to the skillet, "I couldn't sleep, so just get a plate if you're hungry."

"I didn't know you could cook," she said with impression in her voice, grabbing an empty plate and looking over scrambled eggs. He snorted in mirthless laughter. "Ever since I was six I've done the Dursley's meals. Too lazy to do it themselves, I guess." She looked at him intently, especially at the bags under his eyes and the slight grayish-white hue on his brow.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" she asked sympathetically, filling her plate none the less, "You don't look too well."

He chewed his bottom lip and looked over his shoulder at her, his glasses falling half-way down his nose to reveal amber-flecked green irises. She suppressed a shiver, seeing that he pupils had contracted slightly and the irises had widened. "I think the amulet restricts sleep, and even with a lovely set of fuzzy ears I kept hearing ever little creak and junk. I just gave up on sleep."

"You shouldn't have, you're looking really pale," she said softly, unfolding the Prophet, "You feeling okay?" He nodded slowly, taking a piece of bacon, though he turned sharply at her yell. "What, what?" Hermione was staring in shock at the front cover, looking over the loopy type that spelled out the title of the article.

"I can't believe this . . . It's wonderful! Harry, come look!" He turned off the stove and hurried over, adjusting his visor as he read over her shoulder. The article that had earned the front page was under a black and white picture of a smiling woman waving frantically and a surly looking man with long hair. The headline read 'AMERICAN WITH CUSTODY OVER BOY-WHO-LIVE'.

_Godmother Revealed_

_By Damian deLorme_

_Early this morning, the godmother of Harry James Potter (the celebrated Boy-Who-Lived) Atlanta Bifactor arrived at the Ministry of Magic with the will of the late James and Lily Potter, demanding guardianship over her godson. After an hour of discussions by the Wizengamot, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore, Bifactor and her husband were granted custody. _

_The woman (pictured above, left) known as Atlanta Wilhelmina Windstorm Bifactor works and lives in New York City, New York, United States as a professional violinist and activist for animal and sub-humans creatures such as vampires, werewolves and oni (Japanese creatures with horns, fangs and control over elemental magic). Her husband Thantos, the last living descendent of the magical duke, Charles Lionel of Dublin, also works as a violinist for a living. Some know Atlanta from her brother, Zephyr Windstorm, who is the American ambassador for werewolves in the International Confederation of Wizards, despite being of non-magical properties. _

_Article continued on pages eight and nine. See GODMOTHER._

"That's Atlanta Windstorm?" asked Hermione in exasperation, looking at the small picture above. The woman had very pale hair (it was hard to determine the color in the monochrome photograph) and a mad grin on her face, making a peace sign with her fingers. Harry's attention lingered more on the man behind her, who's dark gaze was unpleasant looking, his unruly hair pulled into a long tail that touched his waist in a bunch. It looked a lot like a foxtail, in Harry's opinion, but there was a faint flicker of white on the man's right cheek. As the photographic Thantos Bifactor turned his head, Harry caught sight of the long scar that disfigured his youthful face.

He had seen that scar before, he was sure of it, though he knew he had never seen that man before. Harry chewed his tongue for a minute but didn't let his mind linger long on the puzzle. After all, there were greater things on his plate to deal with.

"My godmother . . ." he breathed, smiling to himself in a wistful manner. Hermione smiled next to him, ladling ketchup onto her eggs. Her smile turned to a quick frown when she saw Harry start coughing heavily, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe you should sit down for a while," she said soothingly, "You really don't look too well." He shook his head and sighed, turning of the skillet. "I'm just tired Hermione." His voice fell on deaf ears as Hermione narrowed her eyes darkly.

"Don't lie to me," she said coolly, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes, "You're as pale as a vampire."

"Don't make comparisons like that," spoke a cold, smooth voice from the kitchen window. Hermione gasped in horror and Harry reached into his pocket, his fingers curling around the trigger of his gun.

Leaning against the window, that Harry was sure had been shut a moment ago, was a tall man of about thirty masked in shadow from head to foot. He wore a thick coat over his wrinkled red and black suit and a large hat whose brim hid everything but his dark red eyes and shinning white fangs. In his gloved hands he held a highly polished revolver with the Nazi swastika and a cross scratched onto it.

"Who the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in my kitchen!" yelled Hermione, reaching for the kitchen knives. The man held up his hand and grinned, showing that all his teeth were sharp fangs the color of his translucent skin.

"Relax, I'm forbidden to harm either of you. Technically, I'm not supposed to be within a mile of this guy," he said darkly, jerking his head at Harry, "But I always found that rules are made the cause trouble to blame on others." He had a fluid, hypnotic voice and his eyes glistened horribly. Harry drew out the gun and Hermione eyed it with fear on her face. The man outside rolled his eyes and leaned in through the window so his long arms touched into the bottom of the sink.

"Mind unlocking the door so I could come in? This sunlight feels like a bad itch," he drawled lazily. Hermione froze and turned to look at the man, more particularly, his bright red eyes. Harry could see the cogs working behind her eyes, probably figuring out who (or what) this unknown figure was. The stranger's lips twitched in shadows and he looked at Harry.

"Atlanta's godson, 'eh? God your scrawny, worse then my old man. Think you're a big man, holding that gun," he leaned in further so half his body was in through the window, "_Wolfhound_?"

"Who the hell are you?" he snarled, tightening his hold on the gun. Hermione didn't like how his eyes were widening behind the glasses. The stranger licked his lips and then his long fangs. "Alucard Dracula, crowned heir of the vampires and named godfather to any children Atlanta and her bastard husband produce."

Harry's eyes widened and dropped the gun. Something stirred at the back of his mind. The name was familiar to him, like how Tom Riddle's had been, like long lost memories. Alucard laughed harshly and jerked his head over at the door. "Open the damn door Potter." Hermione snapped out of her frozen state. "Why on Earth are you here?" The vampire narrowed his eyes darkly. "Alright, move out of the way wolfhound."

He pushed himself in through the window, falling onto the floor and straitening up, pulling back his hood to reveal corpse-pale skin and thick black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. He grinned at Harry.

"I am here on a message from Atlanta Windstorm, to you wolfhound." He craned his neck backward to look at Hermione, grinning wider. "And you're Hermione Granger? Not much in the ways of looks, so sad." She scowled darkly and he laughed, shaking his head and sending loose strands of his dark hair before speaking in a bored voice.

"You and any lackeys you want to invite have been given an invitation to Dracula Manor for your _birthday,_" he said with revulsion, "Today. There Atlanta will finalize her adoption papers and there will be much rejoicing. If anything, go there just to taste Kairai's blood mixed with sake."

Harry's face paled further and he looked like he was about to be sick, Hermione similar. Alucard slipped his gun into the pocket of his cloak and curled a lock of his hair around two fingers, turning to the food Harry had prepared.

"I'm here to bring you to my old man's house and Mrs. Bifactor," he said lazily, helping himself to some food, "And there dear dad will undoubtedly explain what is happening to you." He tore off his glove to bite a vein with one of his canine teeth, slopping black blood over his food and eating it hungrily.

Here Harry was violently sick in the sink next to where Alucard stood. The vampire made a face, licking his wrist. "You'd of never survived World War II."

**_End Chapter Seven: Atlanta and Thantos Bifactor_**


	8. Hurt and Rejection

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists. Thantos Bifactor and Kite belong to Anima Celeste.

**Wanted: Beta Reader with knowledge of Japanese and/or German grammar**

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

**_Chapter Eight: Hurt and Rejection_**

_**The Kinslayer**_

_**Singer**_

_**Nightwish**_

_For whom the gun tolls_

_For whom the prey weeps_

_Bow before a war_

_Call it religion_

_Some wounds never heal_

_Some tears never will_

_Dry for the unkind_

_Cry for mankind_

_Even the dead cry_

_-Their only comfort_

_Kill your friend, I don't care_

_Orchid kids, blinded stare_

_Need to understand_

_No need to forgive_

_No truth no sense left to be followed_

"_Facing this unbearable fear like meeting an old friend"_

"_Time to die, poor mates, you made me what I am!"_

"_In this world of a million religions everyone prays the same way"_

"_Your praying is in vain. It'll all be over soon"_

"_Father help me, save me a place by your side!"_

"_There is no God. Our creed is but for ourselves"_

"_Not a hero unless you die. Our spices eat the wounded ones"_

"_Drunk with the blood of your victims_

_I do feel your pity-wanting pain,_

_Lust for fame, a deadly game!"_

"_Run away with your impeccable kin!"_

"_- Good wombs hat borne bad sons . . ."_

_Cursing, God, why?_

_Falling for every lie_

_Survivor's guilt_

_In us forevermore_

_15 candles_

_Redeemers of this world_

_Dwell in hypocrisy:_

"_How were we supposed to know?"_

_4 pink ones_

_9 blue ones_

_2 black ones_

**London, England**

Hermione Granger had seen many unusual, and frankly bizarre, things in her five years at Hogwarts School. She had traveled through time, been imprisoned by merpeople at the bottom of a school lake and fought Death Eaters in a forbidden area of the Ministry of Magic. She'd usually accepted shock easily; a reason why she hadn't gone mad at the sight of her best friend with wolf ears and fangs, though acceptance wasn't coming as easily in the area of the so-called 'Vampire Prince' Alucard.

The demon was lounging in the passenger's seat of the cab he had forced Hermione and Harry into at gunpoint, the long fingers of his right hand moving through the air like a conductor's baton. The driver seemed to be obeying his every dictation, his brown eyes blank and mouth slightly agape. Harry, who sat next to her, was silent and his head was leaning against the window. His eyes were shut tightly and he was breathing shakily, with a quality almost similar to a wheeze. Hermione nervously ran a hand through her bushy hair and spoke to Alucard even more nervously.

"So, tell me," she said, swallowing before continuing, "Your highness, how do you know Harry's godmother, this Atlanta woman?"

She could tell Alucard was smiling when he spoke, still in a lazy drawl that reminded her ever so much of Draco Malfoy's speech. "War buddies. In World War II, we had a contest to see who could kill more. She won," his tone grew bitter for a minute, "Who knew killing German maidens didn't count as battle casualties . . . I ask you . . ."

Hermione's stomach fled to her mouth and Alucard continued, turning his head to look at the both of them. His face was masked in shadows by his hat though his red eyes were still as bright as if they were in sunshine. "Personally, I don't think that killing identical twins count as two people, do you? They're really the same person, right?"

"You're disgusting," she snapped, sounding braver then she felt. Alucard chuckled darkly.

"Yeah, Etna says that a lot," he said lazily, grinning to reveal his long fangs, "And Leila and my mother . . . Pretty much everyone I know. Funny, isn't it?"

"They count as two people." Both sets of eyes – one blue and one red – turned to look at Harry. He seemed shocked that he had spoken and his voice was raspy, as though ill, but he continued speaking. "Twins count . . . as two people, but if you kill them at the same time . . . its one . . . Like any other, I guess . . ." He shut his eyes tightly and leaned against the window even harder. Hermione starred at him in shock, though Harry did seem disgusted that he had spoken at all.

Alucard grin widened as he conducted the driver to turn left at an intersection with a sharp jab with his thumb. "Spoken like a true demon, wolfhound."

"I'm not a demon!" barked Harry, opening his eyes to glare daggers into the vampire's vermilion gaze, "I'm a wizard, a human! I'm not like you, reminiscing on a contest you lost to a woman." The shock in Hermione's gaze increased, though not at his words, but at how his face rapidly paled as he spoke and how his eyes widened.

"Don't deny it Potter, you're going to end up just like Thantos," breathed Alucard, his eyes glittering, "Licking blood from the sword that had pierced through his grand-nephew's neck and keeping tally marks for every man he's killed. Or even like Makie, eating the still-beating heart of an angel queen . . ."

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" barked Harry, tightening the hold on the gun clasped in his hand. His eyes had narrowed and his teeth were grit together in a style similar to how a dog bore its fangs. Hermione stared at her friend's white face in horror, listening as he continued yelling, "Tell me what the hell happened to me and . . . and who the hell all of you people are!"

"Define 'people'," responded Alucard lazily, directing the driver with his left hand for a minute so he could brush back locks of his black hair. The glint of the vampire's gun was overly bright in Hermione's eyes for a minute and she watched the cross move through the air. Harry gripped the trigger of his own gun a little too tightly for Hermione's liking and she scooted slightly away from the both of them.

"You and Atlanta and Mitsukai and this Khalida person! How the hell do all of you seem to know me?"

Alucard rolled his eyes and started ticking off names with his fingers. "Atlanta went to school with your mother and was named your godmother before getting a restraining order on you because she broke the arms of James' uncle Charles, Makai knows everything, Vlad and Lucy are just in desperate need for decent entertainment, I know everything . . ."

Harry's jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. "Now, who the fuck are all these people?" he asked, calmer and colder then before. His voice sent shivers up her arms and spine.

"The Lords and Ladies born from Khalida, the first children of the Damned Queen." Alucard's voice was evenly cold as well and he smiled again for no more then a second. There was an odd sound to his voice, as if his personality had suddenly changed when he was now speaking.

"They are demons, dwelling in darkness since the time of the Crusades. You are a First-Born Lycanthrope, made from a fang of Khalida," he licked his own fangs, "I am a Third-Born Vampire, from the fang of my crappy sire who came from a First-Born Tengu." He leaned in close to Harry, speaking even cooler then he had done before, "Enjoy your birthday, because then you'll bleed every ounce of your delicious human blood from that miserable lump of flesh you call a body."

"You bastard! How can you just sit there and say that without any sort of feeling?" asked Hermione, balling her hands into fists. She was very surprised that she had mustered enough courage to talk, let alone screech insults, but she couldn't stand to sit in silence any longer, "You just sit there with that bloody smirk as if you know everything about him! Who the hell do you think you are?"

Alucard's smirk vanished in an instant and all sort of amusement – cruel or not – vanished from his eyes. He leaned in close to Hermione and she found his gun's barrel being pointed between her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as all feeling left her hands and torso. Harry lifted his gun up shakily to Alucard's temple, though the vampire didn't seem to notice or care.

"Listen, wrench," he said with icy malice in every inch of his Romanian-accented voice, "Don't you ever backtalk me like that. I've killed better pieces of garbage then you and the only reason you won't have a bullet in your skull is because you have my father's blessing. Now, shut the bloody fuck up before I do something I won't regret." He lowered the gun and turned sharply in his seat so the back of his head was all she saw.

Hermione couldn't breathe for a long time afterwards before turning her wide, blue gaze towards Harry. Her friend was looking strained, his skin even whiter then a few minutes ago and his eyes shut tightly once more. He was breathing slowly and evenly, but it was better then his wheeze before.

'Is that because of this demon blood he'll get on his birthday tomorrow? Is he ill because of Khalida Thantos?' she asked to herself, turning her attention to Alucard. The vampire prince was dictating with his gun now, his legs crossed up on the dashboard and hat tipped low over his head. 'And why do I have Vlad Dracula's blessing?'

The cab ride continued in silence for an hour or two until Hermione was sure her legs were numb with sleep. Alucard was humming something under his breath and the only other sound was the clicking of his gun, which he did on occasions to scare the two of them. Hermione looked out of the window and watched as they left London for a secluded section of the city's outskirts.

There was a small suburb there, with a few homes possessing overgrown gardens and ancient cars in the driveways. Nobody was outside and all the windows were shut and bolted, as if fearing something. At the back of the suburb perched a large, grand mansion with a long drive and a wrought iron gate surrounding it. They pulled up to the front of the gate where the cab driver suddenly stopped, jerking the witch and wizard in the back up to the front seats. Alucard kicked open the door and pulled open Hermione's door. "Get out," he barked, pointing towards the gate with his gun. She obliged quickly, Harry as much as he could with his hand still tightly gripped on his gun.

Alucard turned to the cab driver, pointing back towards the industrial section of the city. The car turned around at his will and Hermione licked her lips edgily, watching as their dark escort shot the security system and walked through the opening gates.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a whisper to Harry. He didn't answer her but his heavy breathing as they walked up the drive was all the answer she needed.

As they approached the mahogany doors with the carved crescent moons and bats, Harry could hear sharp yells and violent crashes from inside. He could tell it was a woman screaming and a man responding with equal tones. It wasn't pretty, he knew, and it didn't look pretty when Alucard smashed the doors open. Harry couldn't see the inside of the hall, with its bleak red and black coloring and gothic accessories, clearly because its occupants were taking up so much attention.

There were two people in the entrance hall, a woman of about forty and a teenaged boy maybe seventeen or so. The woman – whose long, white hair was made paler by her dark clothing, which was not different to funeral garb – was gripping the boy's neck with inch-long nails and leering at him with illuminating red eyes and elongated teeth, like fangs. The young man she was holding was scrawny-looking and pale from either nerves or lack of pigment. His long dark hair was shaggy, looking like it had been cut with a knife in the hands of somewhat not-to-skilled, and the very tips of his black locks were brilliant gold. He was grinning sheepishly as the woman yelled at his face.

"YA FUCKIN' LIL' BASTARD!" roared the woman, no, demon as she flung the boy onto the floor and pressed the heel of her leather boot to his neck, "DID YA REALLY THINK DAT I WON'T FIND OUT YA STOLE MY ANTIQUE MUSKET? DID YA?"

"I wuz more hopin' dat I could break dem for ya got dem back, Miz. 'lanta," said the boy innocently, grinning sheepishly. His accent was annoying to listen to. Alucard rolled his eyes to the heavens and chuckled lightly.

"Wolfhound!" (He grabbed the collar of Harry's coat and dragged the wizard forward); "I found your puppy."

The woman turned her eyes to the three of them, revealing all of her huge eyes, and grinned manically. "Aw Aly, ya brought me Lily's son." She cleared her throat and walked forward, extending a long nailed hand to Harry. When she smiled at him, Hermione noticed that her teeth were no longer the canine-like fangs they had been a moment ago. Harry shook Atlanta's hand with his own pale, shaking one, his face expressionless.

"I am Atlanta Bifactor," she said smoothly, "An' ya must be Harry, right? Ya look jus' like yer ol' man, dough data ain't a good thing." She tilted down Harry's sunglasses to look at his eyes and gave a thin smile. Alucard cleared his throat.

"Well, wolfhound, tell me why _he _is here," he barked, jerking his head towards the teenaged boy lurking by a silver candelabra in the shape of twisting ivy. The boy seemed to jump slightly and waved innocently. Atlanta rolled her eyes.

"Miz. Kairai's in one o' her loopy moods," she whispered delicately, "Came wit Zephy an' won't stay witout 'er lil' lapdog 'ere." Atlanta turned to Hermione, looking the witch up and down. "An' ya are . . .?"

"Hermione Granger," she replied harshly, arms crossed over her chest, "So you are Harry's godmother? Mind explaining a few things, like what the bloody hell is going on?" Atlanta opened her mouth but a sudden crash turned everyone's attention back towards the still unnamed teenaged boy, or demon, Hermione didn't know. He had tried to grab the candelabra but its base had broken off and lay on the floor.

"Uh . . . Miz. 'lanta, Mr. Alucard, I . . ." He ran for his life down the hall, slipping in too-large boots. Alucard and Atlanta exchanged looks and the vampire strode after the boy, raising his gun and shouting in mingled Romanian and German.

"Well, where da ya want me ta start, Miz. Granger? With da Big Bang or . . ." Hermione narrowed her eyes darkly and pointed at the limp-looking form of her best friend. Harry really did look like he was about to pass out at any moment; he wavered where he stood and still had his arm out from where Atlanta had released it.

"He's becoming less and less human by the second, isn't he?" asked Hermione, crossing her arms and glaring at the albino demoness' youthful face. Harry looked at her and shut his eyes.

"'Course he is. Dat's wot da Lady's fangs an' feathers do ta humans; dey get 'er blood, demon blood," said Atlanta carelessly, tucking a loose lock of white hair behind her ear, "Dat's wot happened ta me hubby in da Crusades an' wot happened to Miz. Kairai even 'fore den."

"Why though?" Atlanta sniggered lightly and took her godson's hand, as if he was unable to move on his own accord. The British witch followed the two down the elaborately decorated entrance hall and up flights of velvet-carpeted stairs.

"I ain't da Lady," snapped Atlanta harshly, "But its fer summin' important. Miz. Kairai was made ta kill a couple o' traitors an' Thanatos wuz made ta stop the Human-Demon wars so ya know he's gonna end up doin' summin' special like stoppin' da Apocalypse."

Hermione shook her head and snapped harsher then she meant to. "But . . . What happens on his birthday?"

"Yes, what does happen on my birthday?" Harry jerked out of Atlanta's tight grip, glaring at her behind his visor-like glasses, "And what do I feel like a bus hit me?"

Atlanta looked at him and sighed deeply, crossing her arms behind her head. "I dunno wot happens ta a human when dey get da Lady's blood. Aly knows, ja, an' so do Thany and Miz. Kairai, but none o' dem will talk 'bout it. But ya'll won't have ta worry, I know dat." She gripped his shoulders and smiled. "Me hubby'll be right dere ta help ya. He wuz jus' like ya, human 'fore demon, an' ya've got dis gal 'ere ta help ya." She jerked her head at Hermione and smoothed her skirt unnecessarily.

Harry shook his head. "Isn't there anyway I can stay human?"

"Sorry kido," she said smirkingly, "Once da Lady picks ya, ain't no way ya can refuse 'er. Sides, once ya experience a World War, dere's no way ya want ta be human."

Hermione shook her head in disgust. 'Warmonger . . .' she thought bitterly and Atlanta continued up the stairs.

"I can show ya guys ta yer rooms so me lil' godson can sleep. Dun worry kid, me hubby says dat ya feel ship-shape by tomorrow aftanoon. Den I'll introduce ya ta Vladdie an' Lucy an' everyone else, mkay? Jus' lock yer door, cuz Kite'll take anything ya got when yer sleepin', includin' dat snazzy coat ya've got."

"Kite?" asked Hermione delicately, thinking of the odd scruffy looking boy Alucard had chased down the entrance hall. Atlanta nodded, grabbing her godson's arm delicately with her long fingered hands.

"Miz. Kairai's assistant an' lapdog. Kite does all o' her stuff when she's in rehab o' bedridden o' comatose. He's dat lil' fucker who stole me dad's antique musket, relic o' da French an' Indian War."

Hermione's left eyebrow rose in a high arch. This 'Miss. Kairai' seemed to be popping up a lot in Atlanta's conversation and the demoness made no effort to explain. Atlanta had brought Harry and Hermione to a floor of the mansion that was completely carpeted in black, with silk-embroidered velvet curtains at the French windows all along the corridor. The many doors were all shut tightly.

"Guest rooms," said Atlanta with a curt nod, "Mine's right dere an' me hubby an' bro is wit me." She pointed at a door next to a cherry end table where a vase of dead roses and a bottle of wine sat. At least, Hermione hoped it was wine. She didn't know what demons drank and didn't hope to find out.

Atlanta entered the room furthest down the corridor after two knocks, revealing a room about the size of a Gryffindor dormitory. The furniture was all made of black mahogany and decked in either red or black. There was a large four-poster bed next to the curtain window and a small circular table in the center of the room, with two chairs there.

"Dis is yer room, me lil' godson. Ya can sleep 'till dinner an' I'll come get ya, mkay?" Harry nodded dazedly and collapsed onto a chair. Hermione bit her lip and took the other one, keeping silent until Atlanta let with sharp clicks of her high-heeled boots.

"Harry, I . . ." began Hermione, trying to draw words together, "I don't like any of this. There's got to be a way you won't become a demon, there has to be."

"I don't care anymore."

He reached into his pocket and drew out the amulet that masked his inhuman qualities. He tossed it onto the table and, immediately, his appearance changed to befit that of a half-human. He seemed to sigh in relief.

"What do you mean you don't care!" she asked, looking at him oddly, "Harry, you're human! You can't honestly say you'd rather be like somebody who says 'You haven't lived until you fought in a World War'!"

He gave her an odd sort of feral smile that made her skin crawl. "Nope, not at all. I always wanted to a normal kid with a normal family and a normal life. But it seems that nobody wants me to have that, now do they?" He didn't wait for her to answer and took off his red tri-cornered hat so that his canine ears flickered.

"Maybe this is a way I can get a normal life. These demons don't care that I'm 'the amazing Harry Potter'. They see me as a weak little kid, and that's perfectly acceptable so long as I don't get special treatment."

She stared at him with widening eyes and she shook her head.

"Listen to yourself," she snapped, standing and looking down at him, "You sound insane!"

"Am I insane so much that I want a family!" he snarled through clenched fangs, "My aunt and uncle are DEAD. My godfather is DEAD. All I have left in this world are those two! What would you know, anyway?" He stood, his fists clenched on the tabletop and his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "You have everything I ever wanted Hermione! You and Ron, you both have normal, loving families! My family hated me and now they're dead! What do I have to hold onto as a human; memories of people I cared about getting hurt and dying?"

She balled her right hand into a fist and, in a spur of the moment thought, slapped him as hard as she could with her left. He stumbled backwards for a moment, a hand mark stinging against his cheek and his angry eyes dazed and dulled.

"You . . .?" he asked, confused and looking at her oddly.

"Just because your lonely doesn't mean you have to relinquish your humanity, Harry Potter," she whispered icily, "Ever since I met you, you've been high strung. Even through everything, you didn't give up. Now look at yourself." She gripped his shoulders, tightly but not painfully so.

"You don't have to give up just because you're in a corner. That didn't stop you all these years, did it?"

His odd smile returned and he took her hands off his shoulders. "This isn't like all those other times Hermione," Harry said quietly, "This is different. I don't want to be human anymore, I made my choice. Can't you understand?"

She stared at him for a long time, focusing on the eyes behind his visor-glasses. They were only slightly hued with green now, mostly yellow and barely human anymore. Finally, Hermione shook her head and slipped her hands out of his tight grasp.

"I need to think . . ." she said, keeping her voice as even and quiet as she could, "Why don't you get some sleep?"

Hermione turned sharply on her heels, walking out of the room and shutting the door. She leaned against it, with her head in her hand and tears clogging her vision and throat.

Harry looked at where Hermione had closed the door, then looked at his own long fingered hands with the blackened, claw-like nails. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't feel any sort of sorrow for Hermione's rejection and only a strange sort of bliss that he was free to do what he wished with his life.

**12 Grimmauld Place, London, England**

"Let me see if I understand the situation correctly," said Molly Weasley very coldly, speaking to the black-winged German woman in the odd bareback uniform, "You say that my youngest son isn't human anymore, correct?"

Verlust nodded curtly, narrowing her hazel eyes slightly. "Ja."

"And you say that he is supposed to lead dead souls to rest, correct?"

Again, the German nodded. Mrs. Weasley stood and shook her head. "I forbid it. I don't care if you kill me, but you're not laying a hand on my son! If anything, you are going to get rid of those wings of his and explain how he got them!"

Remus lay a hand on Molly's shoulder, glaring her into silence. Verlust looked at Ron, who stood in a corner as if trying to hide away from all this negative attention he was getting.

"Vhy don't ve leafe the decision to your son, Fau Veasley?" she asked coldly, "If he vishes to accept vhat the Seraph vishes him to do, or he can accept vhat you vish him to do."

"That sound reasonable," said Remus delicately and Molly opened her mouth to screech her objection. "Molly, Ron isn't a child. He can make his own choices."

Ron gulped, beads of sweat dripping down his neck. His wings twitched in apprehension and he tried to focus on what he had to choose. One, he could either wait for Professor Dumbledore to explain what had happened to him or, two, he could go with this German Reaper and possibly get a more decent explanation.

His mind thought of Harry, his best friend for five whole years and Hermione . . .

Ron inhaled deeply and shut his eyes before speaking. He didn't want to see anybody's expression.

"I . . . I'll go with Strum . . ."

"RON!" yelled his mother harshly and Ron looked at the stone ground and his bare feet.

"Mum, she's like me, you know, and she'll be able to explain what's wrong with me and everything. And . . . and I'll be able to help out the Order more. Right?" He looked up and saw the hurt on his mother's face. Verlust was smirking.

"Ve are not going to take him avay from you forefer. I can make a fev exceptions und let him stay vith you."

"No, its fine," said Mrs. Weasley hoarsely, "If he wishes to go with you, let him. I don't care."

She turned from the kitchen and walked out swiftly and silently, though she didn't need to say anything to emphasize the pitiful feeling Ron felt as he watched his mother leave.

'I hope I picked right,' he thought to himself, fingering the large cuff of his military jacket.

**_End of Chapter Eight: Hurt and Rejection_**


	9. Happy Birthday

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter; they belonged to their respective artists. Thantos Bifactor and Kite belong to Anima Celeste.

**Wanted: Beta Reader with knowledge of Japanese and/or German grammar**

_**Unholy Purity**_

_**Part One: Demon Blood**_

**_Chapter Nine: Happy Birthday_**

_**Half a Week Before the Winter  
**__**Singer  
**__**Vanessa Carlton**_

_Half a week before the winter_

_The chill bites before it comes_

_And I'm a child of the pleasure_

_That he brings before he runs_

_He sits behind a desk of mahogany_

_He whispers dreams into my ear_

_Though I've given him his empire_

_He delivers me my fear_

_The unicorns are riding high_

_Powerful in coats of white_

_I turn to look but burn my eyes_

_I carry on, I carry . . ._

_All the weight of empty promise_

_As I stand swallowed by the light_

_Flickering above the highway_

_I hold my head and know the streets are mine tonight_

_The vampires are growing tired_

_The coats of white all turn to red_

_My heart burns with desire_

_I carry on, I carry on_

_The unicorns are riding high_

_Powerful in coats of white_

_We turn to look and burn our eyes_

_I carry on . . . I carry . . ._

_The vampires are growing tired_

_The coats of white all turn to red_

_My heart burns with desire_

_I carry on, I carry on_

**Tepes Manor, London, England**

It was nighttime now, the full moon was high in the black sky and the stars flickered all around the orb of the night. Werewolves across the globe were screaming in agony about now as their flesh tore apart to form a lupine monster, though the lycanthrope demons felt nothing but a rush of adrenaline. To one young wizard, he felt nothing but apprehension for the following hours.

Harry was sitting in front of the large window in his bedroom, looking blindly up at the sky with an unfocused gaze. His hands were balled in fists on his kneecaps and he could barely think of anything outside of hazy confusion. What was he supposed to do; in a few hours it was his birthday and it was his last few hours as a human, so people have said.

He shut his eyes and sighed heavily, wishing he could just forget his troubles for a few minutes and just relax like he hadn't done in . . . well, forever it now seemed. His ears drooped at the path his thoughts were taking.

What was it going to be like, with the knowledge that there was an inhuman part of him? A part that was a canine, with claws and fur and fangs? Was the transition going to leave him insane, incapacitated and unable to do or think normally or was he going to be able to stand up and walk away as if nothing happened? Honestly, he didn't know which was worse.

Harry thought back to what Atlanta had said about World Wars and his stomach gave a painful and unwelcome lurch. Did that mean that she had served during World War II, nearly sixty years ago? But she only looked forty, not even maybe, so did that make demons immortal or eternally youthful?

He buried his face in his hands, breathing heavily. "Why can't I have a normal life!" he roared, yelling out to the silent window and empty night sky, "Why, is it some unwritten law!"

Silence, save for his echoes, answered him. He scowled and balled his hands into fists, trying to settle his breathing. He looked absently around the room for a clock of some sorts and narrowed his angry eyes when he found nothing of the sort. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the bedroom door opened and a tall man walked in. Harry recognized the man, even though he had only ever seen a black and white photograph.

Thantos Bifactor, Atlanta's husband and apparently another human-turned-demon, waltzed in casually and turned his amber eyes to the statue-still form of Harry. He was rugged looking and somewhat ominous, with a tangled mess of black hair that was gray at the temple, and there was an unwelcome look to his all black, ancient-looking clothing. He did smile slightly, an expression that was clearly not often used.

"Good evening," he said in a voice near devoid of emotion and accent. Harry glared slightly, not answering, though Thantos didn't seem to expect an answer. "I'm just here to help you tonight, you'll need it." He took the seat at the room's small table and looked intently at Harry with his eerie amber gaze that was so like trying to stare down a hunting dog. "You look pretty weak."

"I'm not weak," Harry replied stubbornly, crossing his arms, "What's going to happen to me? What . . . what will happen?"

Thantos closed his eyes and spoke delicately, crossing his fingers and resting his chin on them. "I will not lie to you; it will be the most painful thing you have felt in your entire life. You will, hopefully, become unconscious for the beginning, and you will be able to sleep for the day after your transition. I will be available to help during the transition and Dame Okami will tend to any lasting wounds, one that wouldn't heal naturally."

Harry swallowed painfully and collapsed into the other chair by the window. Thantos cleared his throat to bring the attention back to himself.

"You might want to take off your clothes; they will be destroyed during the transition otherwise. Especially your pendent," he pointed at Mrs. Potter's ivory lily, which Harry looked at casually. He fingered the jeweled surface carefully and took the necklace off, carefully putting it on the window sill. He didn't talk to his parents much, he didn't know why though, but he still wore the necklace as one of his only mementos he had of his muggle-born mother.

"Will I . . . still remember being human?" he asked softly, taking off his coat and jumping when his gun fell out of the pocket. He had forgotten about it until now and picked it up, looking intently at the raven imprinted on the barrel. It was only his godmother's husband's voice that snapped him back to reality and made him drop the gun on the windowsill as well.

"You will, but it will seem like a dream," now Thantos' voice sounded deeply sorrowful, "I can remember my human family and . . . It is not important . . . You will remember, do not fret."

Harry shivered as he unbuttoned his shirt and cast it asunder. He would take the risk of destroying his jeans (there was no way in hell that he would take them off) but he moved to untie his boots.

"What were you before a demon?" he inquired, dropping his boot carelessly onto the ground, "Your life as a human?"

He didn't catch Thantos' thin, quick second smile though Harry's triangular ears twitched violently as he shivered from the cold.

"I will speak my past later, perhaps while you sleep to keep you calm. It is almost midnight and your transition should begin at any moment." Harry jumped viciously, eyes widening and ears jerking straight up. He had thought he'd had a few hours – that it was only ten o'clock – but he only had mere minutes left with his birth humanity.

He looked at the black-haired lycanthrope and felt himself smile. He didn't know why he smiled; it was a reflex basically, since he had nothing to be cheerful about. Harry closed his eyes and braced himself for whatever pain would be coming in the next few minutes.

The first jab of pain was dull, in his neck and Harry reflexively reached a hand up quickly to it. Something slick coated his fingers instantly and, looking his fingers, found them to be coated in deepest blood, so crimson it was almost blackish. The same blood dribbled down his shoulders and back in thick rivers from the neck wound and he quickly found himself becoming lightheaded from the loss of the ichor.

He slipped into the chair again, focusing on his breathing and nothing else. His vision flickered in and out so that the room and Thantos seemed to wink at him. Thantos stood, his blurry outline moving to stand in the middle of the room and Harry grinned psychotically as he shut his gaze, his blood soaked hands slipping from their grasp on his throat.

"Good-bye humanity," he whispered, voice so weak that he barely heard the line himself. He slumped in the chair, still trying to force himself to breath in and out as it became increasingly difficult to get oxygen into his dying lungs.

Finally, his breath caught in his throat and he felt a dull, dim-set feeling cloud his vision for a long time. It wasn't like unconsciousness or sleep, it was as if Harry had been reduced only to corporeal form and could feel nothing at all. He couldn't even hear his breathing anymore, but he could hear slight voices.

'_Take care, my little boy,' _whispered a female voice, strongly familiar until he remembered it was Lily's, _'I love you Harry . . . I love you . . .'_

'_Brace yourself,' _said another female voice, this one with a monotone and heavy sorrow in her voice. Khalida's voice, though he could barely recall it as hers.

As soon as her single line of advice had faded from his echoing mind, he could feel feeling returning to his fingers and arms. His vision snapped painfully back into focus, stronger then it had ever been, though it blurred slightly. With shaking, still bloody hands, he removed his glasses and looked around with a stiff neck for Thantos. He felt the demon's rough hand grip his shoulders and looked up slightly.

Thantos' face was blank, completely, though it was forced. His eyes, however, were pain-stricken and fearful. Harry said nothing and merely slipped his glasses atop of the gun at the windowsill.

It hit him like a bludger to the head. Harry winced violently and grabbed his head in pain as pain traced its way through his mussel system, not leaving a single part of his body aching. His arms and legs, especially, stung horribly, and a second painful jab of pain struck his chest, causing him to gasp and spit out a mouthful of ebony blood on the already ruined carpet.

He shivered violently in pain but was kept in his seat by Thantos' steady hands. The agony that had struck his mussel system had come again, burning every inch of skin on his arms and legs and bringing furious tears to his eyes. He wanted to break something, anything, just to get some of the pain out of him and into something else.

Though Harry's vision was clouded by tears of pain, he did manage to see that his hands were shaking badly and convulsing as if he was having a seizure. He balled his hands into fists and screamed in pain, though he could have yelled much louder if he wasn't keeping his teeth clamped down so hard they should have chipped already. His fists, even though he had forced himself to release them from a fist, stayed in that position and the following agony was worse, even, then the torment he had felt when Voldemort had used his body to speak last June.

The bones in his fingers cracked and shifted around beneath his skin, causing their shape to change and Thantos to tighten the grip he had on Harry's shoulders. The wizard screamed again, and in his pain he failed to notice it lacked any sort of human quality to it. He was howling.

Outside the room, the previously sleeping Hermione Granger was trying her hardest to break down the door to Harry's bedroom. She could hear his screams, even down the immense hallway, and they had suddenly become canine cries of pain that made her even more frightened then she already was for her safety.

The door was locked, though, and she couldn't bring herself to go get her wand and blast the damn door to flaming pieces. She herself screamed when a pair of hands grabbed her and pulled her away from the door. She jerked her elbow back and felt it collide with something that swore horribly.

Hermione backed away and looked to see that she had broken the nose of that boy Atlanta and Alucard had yelled out for stealing a musket – Kite, was it? He was much younger looking up close, with a round face and large golden eyes that were currently narrowed as one of his hands held his bleeding nose.

The woman who stood behind Kite was much different then him, with short dark hair and cadaver pale skin that contrasted painfully. Her eyes were sorrowful red, her clothing completely white and spotless but it was her left arm that drew Hermione's attention immediately.

It was made of metal, with claw-like fingers that constantly flexed themselves and looked nothing at all like human fingers. The metal was white as well, with a silvery sheen to it and the woman spoke in a soft, whispering voice of no dialect.

"You cannot see your friend for quite a while."

"Let me in there!" she snarled, "What the hell are you doing to him!"

"We do nothing but aide his transition," added the unnamed woman, though Hermione knew who she was. Kairai Okami, whom Atlanta had spoken so highly of. "The pain is part of it. The pain is needed, and the pain will pass and mend."

Hermione opened her mouth to object but Okami's voice cut over her. "This is the will of She who is above any of us. She will not let your friend die, and She will not let him stay scarred from this. At noon, you may bring him breakfast will I bring healing."

As if her words had solved everything, she turned with much twirling of the skirt she wore. Kite glared darkly at Hermione and raised his middle finger to her, but trotted off after Okami like a dog kept on a leash. Hermione turned back to the door and slumped next to it, feeling completely useless.

Inside, Thantos was trying to pin down the convulsing half-wolf creature that Harry was transforming into. The demon's lupine yellow eyes were mad and alight with rage as it swung a too-large claw at the man's face. Thantos ducked the blow (though he really didn't need to, the aim was that poor) and pressed most of his weight onto Harry's torso, to keep him still as his nose and mouth merged and elongated to form a muzzle containing glistening, pearl-white fangs that could have torn flesh to ribbons in instants.

Harry snarled viciously and snapped his jaws in pain, trying to bite Thantos' hand from the wrist though the reach was too short. Thantos narrowed his eyes darkly and grabbed the throat of his wife's godson. "Almost done!" he said gleefully, though the wolf barely heard anything but a deep whine.

He clawed at the carpet for four fully-formed claws, with bright ivory nails and razor tips, and howled in pain again as dark fur crept across his body, whose bones were still shifting to their correct positions. There were patches of white on Harry's tail and paws, along with the streaks at his head. Thantos breathed heavily as he loosened his grip on the new lycanthrope, who would take Atlanta's title as Chieftain when she retired.

Harry lay without moving, except for his chest that showed he was breathing normally. His human mind was slowly returning to dominant control, numb with pain and the over powering urge to sleep and relax his aching body. He managed to lift his head and look around slightly, ears drooping. He gave a soft whimper before he collapsed and his mind shut down completely.

Sunlight filtered in through the window and cast long shadows in the room. Thantos nursed the deep scratches he'd received and lifted the sleeping form of Harry up onto the bed. Already, he was beginning to take to his original body and though he looked human, he still had the lycanthrope black-blood and certain canine characteristics.

He drew a chair to the side of the bed, and was soon asleep in it. Kairai would wake him when she came, he knew, and if she didn't, Kite certainly would.

Hermione was careful to not spill the tray of food Atlanta had made up for her godson as she carried it up the stairs to Harry's bedroom. Behind her strode Kite, his arms laden down with linen wrappings, while Atlanta and Okami took up the rear.

"I hope he didn't take too big a bit outta Thany," muttered Atlanta, herself holding a pile of clothing, "Makie says he's got one hell o' a strong beserker form."

"How wuld Miz. Makai know?" asked Kite, stumbling over his untied boots, "Cuz she's been in Tokyo fer da last few days, ain't she?" Atlanta rolled her eyes and flicked the back of Kite's head.

"Makie knows everything, ya lil' runt."

Hermione swallowed as she came to the locked door she had tried to force open only a few hours ago. It was slightly ajar now and she could smell the heavy stench of blood waft down the hall. She swallowed a mouthful of hot bile and entered, slipping through the door and looking at it with shock and horrified surprise.

The carpet was soaked in blood so much that it felt like a sponge, the table and one of the chairs smashed to large pieces of blood soaked wood. Thantos was seated at beside in the other chair, and Harry was lying asleep in the bed, his canine ears twitching as he slept. The right side of his body was caked in dried blood and there was a strip of cloth tied around his throat, stained with blood as well.

"Jus' be glad Aly ain't here," said Atlanta, strolling into the room and taking the tray of food from Hermione's frozen hands, "He'd be at dat carpet lickin' up da blood best he could."

"Good Lord . . ." gasped Hermione, moving quickly towards the bed and looking at her best friend's lifeless face, "Is he alright?"

Thantos cracked open an eye and looked at her stonily. His hands were scratched and caked with dried blood as well, and there were two long scratches marring his face as if done by a scalpel.

"He is fine," he replied emptily, getting up so Hermione could take his place. She grabbed Harry's hands and held them tightly, looking intently at his face. Okami moved next to him and brushed strands of his hair away from his sweaty brow, revealing his infamous lightning bolt scar.

"There is no damage that will hurt him for ages," she whispered calmly, untying the piece of cloth around his neck with her metal arm. She revealed the huge gash in his neck, around which fresh black and dried red blood stained the skin.

"Linen and alcohol," she demanded, holding out a hand behind her. Kite fumbled with the load he had in his arms and presented a steel flask and half-unrolled section of linen bandages. She tore off a section of the linen and soaked it in the flask's contents, which smelt so strong it made Hermione's head spin. Okami dabbed the blood away from the cut with a section of clean linen and pressed the soaked rag to his neck. He seized up for a moment but calmed down almost immediately afterwards.

"In bed, two days," said Okami brokenly, "Good food, good company. Keep Alucard away from him, at all costs." She glared especially at Atlanta, narrowing her yellowish eyes. "I mean it."

"Scout's honor," said Atlanta lazily, sitting down at the edge of the bed and looking at Harry's face intently, "Damn scar, it really ain't dat pleasant to look at."

Hermione glared at her. Did Atlanta know how much Harry hated having that scar? How much it pained him? Okami was wrapping bandages around wounded parts of Harry's arm and upper torso, of which there were many.

"Human girl, what ails your friend in mentality?"

"Hm?" asked Hermione, looking up at the demoness intently, "What ails him in mentality?"

"What bothers him," translated Thantos, "Nightmares, thoughts, anything that would hurt him in ways other then physical."

"Lots of things," Hermione confessed after a moment's long pause, "He . . . he can sometimes feel what Voldemort feels and thinks . . ."

"Oh, dat guy," said Kite blankly, "Thought he wuz dead."

"Premonitions, is it?" asked Okami, "Slight psychic power? Intriguing." She turned to Hermione. "They will not trouble him now. This Dark Lord is no demon; there is no connection between a human and a demon. He will not feel thoughts or emotions of a human, no matter how strong the Dark Lord gives off."

She stood and slipped her hands in the pockets of her white coat. "Atlanta, Thantos, get those who would help him feel better. Stranger's words will not help him keep sanity, human words will help him. Human girl, when he awakes, make him eat and dress. I will speak with the Lady. The Lady can direct my next movements." She moved out of the room, Kite following quickly after her.

Hermione looked at Harry's face and saw he was smiling in his sleep. His teeth were fangs once more, the color of his sickly skin. She tightened her grip on his hands.

"Who are his friends, anywho?" asked Atlanta carelessly, "Cuz I don't know anyone 'ere in England who's still alive."

"The Weasleys, Remus Lupin, Tonks and Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione instantly, "Can you get them here?"

"Ol' Remy's still alive?" asked Atlanta eagerly, "Damn, I ain't been keepin' up wit da times. I thought 'em dead fer three years. Sure, Hermione, we can go get Remy fer me lil' wolfhound. Where are dey, anywho?"

". . . You'll need to ask Dumbledore first."

"Damn it," swore Atlanta and Thantos in unison.

**Hogwarts Castle, England**

Albus Dumbledore rubbed his aching temples with gnarled fingers, trying to soothe the migraine he had. Hedwig, Harry Potter's precious owl, cooed softly from the perch she had on his desk and he looked down at the scrawled note the Gryffindor had written to him almost two days ago.

By now, he had no way of tracking Harry. Any spell he tried ended in ruin and he was told by the Order they had no success with the tracking either. The Ministry was having a field day combined with a minor apocalypse; most of the officials were eager to put Harry Potter on trial for murder yet didn't want to deal with the public's reaction to the trial either.

A part of him felt that it was good that Harry was hidden somewhere, because it meant that Atlanta and Thantos Bifactor could not get to him. He had been horrified that they had gained custody, since it meant that the Wizarding world's savior was now in the hands of two immortal wolf-demons who still kept tally of the Nazis, Italian and Japanese they had killed in World War II. Even though he had taught Atlanta and her brother Zephyr almost twenty years ago, he could not shake off the feeling that he was going to turn Harry into a hangman by sending him to live with those two.

Speaking of the albino lycanthrope, he was surprised to hear her voice echo through his fireplace. He looked up in time to see the woman fall out of an emerald fire, her white hair and skin coated in ash and leather clothing singed slightly from the flame. She stood and brushed herself off, smiling cheerily at the old headmaster of Hogwarts school.

"Hullo Professor," she said, coughing slightly, "Can I sit down?"

"What is it that you came here for Atlanta?" he asked, trying to sound civil and pleased that he had succeeded. Atlanta sat down and brushed ash off of her army boots, reminiscent of the 1930's.

"It's about me godson, Professor," she said, "Harry's birthday's today, ain't it?"

"Yes it is Atlanta. What of it?"

She cleared her throat and smiled kindly, making her crimson eyes glimmer. "Well, he's a demon now, jus' like yers truly. Lycanthrope an' all."

Dumbledore stood straight, eyes blazing and hand reaching for his wand. He didn't even stop to think that Atlanta could not be killed, being of black blood and all, but she continued on hastily, "I ain't done anything, it wuz the Queen o' da Night! She an' his parents, I wuz told, decided on it 'bout two months ago, sos I hear. He's at Tepes Manor in London town, sleepin' an' I wanted to bring some o' his friends ta make 'im feel better, ya know?"

"Atlanta, I was not eager to hand custody of him over to you and your husband," he said coolly, "And I am not eager to let him stay in a vampire's mansion injured and unarmed. I am going to ask that Remus Lupin and Severus Snape bring him to Hogwarts so that I may speak to him and make him see sense."

"See sense o' wot?" she asked stubbornly, standing and crossing her arms, "He ain't gonna be able ta be human, ya know, now dat he's got da Queen's blood in him."

"Even so, I will be able to talk him out of acting like one. Atlanta, he is supposed to save our kind and he cannot do so if he does not have any loyalties left in wizards."

"An' I don't see why he had any in da first place. Ya treat him like a lil' kid an' he ain't one no more. Well, ta me he is, but ta human's he ain't an' I know it." She shook her head. "Professor, have ya ever thought about wot Harry wants in all o' dis?"

Dumbledore paused and sighed deeply and heavily. "Harry is not liable to make his own choices. They is too much riding on what he does and does not do, and the wrong decision can do too much damage."

Atlanta shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair, looking at Dumbledore in disbelief. "I jus' want da best fer my godson. Ya'll want da best fer him to. An' ta get da best fer him, I'll do anything in me power, even if it means draggin' him ta America an' away from all o' ya."

"If you do that, we will have you arrested and sent to Azkaban."

"An' I'll break out." She glared sharply at him, flexing fingers whose nails were elongating into sharp claws. "I ain't Chieftain o' da lycanthropes in title only. I ain't gonna sit 'round an' let my kin get pushed aside an' ignored."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I believe you should go now Atlanta."

She looked at him and shut her eyes tightly. "He ain't gonna stand fer dis, an' ya'll have ta face an angry First-Born lycanthrope." With that, Atlanta dropped Floo powder into the fireplace's dying flame and vanished without another word.

**Tepes Manor, London, England**

Harry's eyelids flickered open and his headache came back as a dull echo of the previous pain. His whole body ached and he turned his stiff neck slightly, though the simple movement sent pain down his spine.

"Harry!" He scowled in pain, ears flickering and he turned to see Hermione sitting next to him and holding his hand. He smiled lightly and pushed himself up slightly, rubbing his stiff shoulders. His arms were very sore and covered in linen wrapping, some parts of the wrapping stained with blood.

"Hey Hermione," he said weakly, rubbing his throat. It too was covered in linen, though it was not painfully tight. "Do I . . . Do I look demonic?"

"You look ill," she commented, "And you still have wolf ears and fangs, but you're no different from when you came to my house. How do you feel?"

He cracked his neck and nursed it, wincing slightly. "I ache all over." He caught sight of a tray off food on the bureau not too far away. "And are you going to eat that?"

"It's for you actually." She stood and retrieved the tray, brining it over. There was a plate of ham with eggs, a bowl of soup and a glass of water, which he was grateful for. "Are you okay, I mean . . . really?"

He looked at her, swallowing a mouthful of water and sighing. "I dunno, really. It's like . . . something important I had to do is done."

"I heard your transition last night," she confessed, "You were howling, I heard it."

"Yeah, I was . . ." He caught his reflection in the soup spoon and noticed his eyes were no longer the same ethereal shade of green as his mother's, but golden yellow, piecing and inhuman. The two locks of white hair on either side of his face were still present, as were his ears. "I kept wanting to . . . Instincts, I guess, but I just wanted to kill something, to sink my fangs . . ."

"It's just like animagi." He looked at her and she gave a sort of sheepish smile. "Wizards who turn into carnivorous animals have to be kept away from everything else during their first transformation or else they will kill something and be sent to Azkaban."

"How would you know?" he asked, grinning slightly, "Thinking of becoming one?"

". . . I ordered some books in mid July. I was going to send some to you for your birthday, but . . ."

"I'll help you, best you can. I don't think I can be one," he said, draining the soup bowl, "Do you know how Ron is doing? I remember Ginny said something about him having wings but . . ."

"Nothing more then you know, I'm afraid." Hermione leaned back in her chair and pressed her hand against her head. "I hate not knowing what's going on."

**_End Chapter Nine: Happy Birthday_**


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